The Caliginous Future
by GaleSynch
Summary: AU: Waking up in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, on Mad-Eye Moody's doorstep no less, was not something she did everyday. So, understandably, she freaked. SI/OC-Insert.
1. Chapter 1

******Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling******

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><p><strong>The Caliginous Future<strong>

**Prologue**

by GaleSynch

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><p>Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody wasn't have a good day. Not at all. Clenched tightly in his hand was a letter from his boss: a letter of his forceful retirement. For crying out loud, he was thirty-nine! He could still fight, regardless of his missing eye (that had already been replaced, as he'd vehemently argued) and his amputated leg (which had also been replaced by a wooden prosthetic).<p>

An ordinary man who had been told he'd been laid off would've drown themselves in Ogden's finest. But Moody did not indulge himself so.

In the years he'd spent as an Auror, he'd made many enemies and one second of laxness could cost him his life.

Of course, occasionally, he would wonder why he cared so much about his life. The threat of Voldemort was over (for the time being; Moody would sooner be a monkey's uncle if Voldemort was really dead) but his Death-Eaters were still running wild.

Moody grunted as he nearly tripped over a bump in his path. His newly acquired magical eye was working its magic; he saw everything, back and front, left and right, up and down but the swiveling was still something he was getting use to. He hated relying on a walking stick to walk properly.

Blast that Evan Rosier!

Even though he had lost his leg in the fierce duel against Rosier, Moody felt no satisfaction when Rosier died. It weighed heavily on Moody that he had used the Killing Curse; Rosier's son and wife must be in their grieving stages. But he had no choice. Fight evil with evil— he tensed.

Above him, lightning flashed and rain poured. His sight was unhindered due to the magical eye. He squinted into the distance, stepping over the bumpy road and hurrying towards his house.

It was a dingy little cottage away from civilization; nevertheless, the village he settled in was close to Muggle settlement. If any Death Eaters came, it would be easier for him to protect them. But of course, by staying close to that settlement, he ran the risk of endangering them if any avengers came knocking on his door.

Small steps lead up to his cottage and outside the fence, his gate that had a magical barrier cast around it, was a garbage dump where there were the dustbins. Usually, trash bags littered that area.

Tonight, however, there was something other than trash—something that was noticeably not trash.

A child. Moody hobbled closer, peering down to make sure it was, in fact, a child and indeed, it was. A girl no older than five, if he must guess; her hair was surely a dark color but her pale skin seemed translucent in the night. Moody contemplated what he should do.

He was tempted to leave her out there; this could be a trap. But his conscience won over: whatever the dirty avengers wanted to try against him, risking a child's life and health was simply not his style. He conjured a stretcher and lifted her onto it, entering his cottage.

He was the only one—left—living in there. The living room served as his bedroom as well, an open doorway led to the kitchen and the stairs led to the attic and storeroom above. The bathroom was right next to the kitchen.

He Levitated the girl on his makeshift bed, flicking his wand and lighting his cottage up. He could see properly with both eyes now. Moody dried both himself and the girl who was as pale as death but the rise and fall of her chest reassured Moody that she was alive, albeit trembling with cold.

Moody started the fire by jabbing his wand at it before settling down heavily on the remaining sofa, letting the slight aches in his prosthetic leg fade before he attempt any other movement. He took the time to observe the child; she seemed small for her age, her black hair was a mess of filthy curls, and she was dressed in Muggle clothing.

A Muggle child then?

He wondered what had happened even as he contemplated what to do. It was best not to underestimate the girl; Muggle child or not, she might be dangerous.

Moody's magical eye swirled in its socket; his remaining eyelid closed.

He could always sleep with one eye open: he kept vigilant for the rest of the night.

**:: :: ::**

Moody was awakened by a girl's scream. His normal eye flew open even as his magical eye remained unblinking. The child he'd picked up from the night before was fully awake and was screaming.

"Shut up," he growled, probably feeding her the illusion of a menacing kidnapper. "You're hurting my ears." When she didn't stop panicking, he waved his wand, casting a soundless _Silencio_ on her.

She noticed immediately and clutched her throat, seeming to be choking on her own silence.

"Calm down," he said, well, growled but he did it in a nicer tone. "I'm not going to hurt you nor am I a kidnapper."

This did little to reassure her; she was breathing heavily, back burrowed completely into his comfy couch, she glared at him suspiciously. Under the artificial light, Moody noticed how similar her eyes were to his. No, she did not have a magical eye: her eyes were different colors.

One was a startling shade of magenta: seemingly a sky of violet-red peppered with flakes of ashes Her other eye reminded Moody of the sky outside; grey and cloudy, a color that made it seem as if her right eye was enveloped in mist.

Her oily black hair fell around her in a rat nest; she glared at him with her dual-colored eyes. Her mouth was opening and closing.

He waved his wand. "—you!" She stopped talking, looking surprised that her voice was back. She jumped to her feet, gazing around in disbelief; she gaped at her own stature and body. Moody did not know what was going on through her mind but decided to speak anyway.

"Firstly, kid, what's your name?"

She shot off. Moody always locked his door and she just ran right into it. She tried in vain to turn his doorknob. "I told you, I didn't kidnap you."

"LIAR!"

"I found you outside and brought you in. Now get back here so I can ask you where your parents is and get you home. Did you come from the village nearby?"

A pause and Moody saw—his magical eye focused on the back of his head—the girl's face flickering between suspicion and doubt. After a full five minutes, she eventually sidled back into Moody's ordinary line of sight. Her face was set into a scowling pout.

"Who're you?" she asked.

"I'm Alastor Moody, kid," he grunted. "Whether you chose to tell me your name or not..." His eyes darted to the robes that had been covering her body the night before. Undoubtedly, it belonged to a wizard; the Muggles these days never wore those robes anymore. "... does not matter. Is your mother or any of your relatives named Ankaa?"

She frowned. "No," she said slowly. "No. What makes you think that?"

Moody pointed at the robes that laid on the spot she was sitting previously. She strode past him and picked it up, examining it with a critical eye. "It seems to be custom-made for a kid," she announced flatly, finger tracing the symbol of the phoenix on the robes.

"I was thinking Ankaa is your name."

"No, it's not," she corrected. "My name is given to me by my mother and I will never tell you." She tossed her head, crossing her arms.

Moody rolled his normal eye. "Whatever. Now let's go."

"I've got to call my parents," she told him, eyeing him warily as he stood. Her eyes flickered minutely to his face and he knew what was going through her mind even without Legilimency: hideous and fearsome. She swallowed and averted her gaze to his feet but blanched when she saw the prosthetic leg. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but thought better of it and closed her mouth.

"Do you have a phone?" Moody assumed it was a Muggle object that he didn't know about so he shook his head. He didn't have anything directly related to Muggles or Muggle inventions in his home. "So we'll have to use the phone booth." She turned and squinted at the window. "It's drizzling. Do you have an umbrella?"

It was best if she did not see magic. He nodded and gestured to the umbrella stand. She padded there quietly and retrieved the umbrella. "Er, do you have any shilling I can borrow?" Hurriedly, she added, "I'll get my parents to pay back!"

Muggle money, fortunately, Moody did have such money. He kept it beneath the tea table—and all his wizarding gold as well. "Shilling are coins...?"

"No," complained the girl, "they're _rocks_!" He scowled at her. She shrunk back. "Yes, they're coins. Sorry about that."

"Let's go," he growled. She opened the umbrella with practiced ease — Moody had nearly blinded his normal eye the first and last time he tried to use it, the Muggle-born wizard who'd given him this was probably trying to get him. She held it up for him to duck under but she was pathetically small in comparison to his six feet. "No need for that," he said gruffly, ushering her out his door, "I can withstand a little rain like this."

The girl shrugged. "Suit yourself." She stepped out the door and promptly stopped. Moody had to nudge her to get her moving.

"What is this?" she muttered under her breath as she followed in Moody's wake. "Bloody hell. How did I get here?"

The coarse language she was using and her appearance... she did not have a British accent and while she was obviously of Caucasian descent, Moody suspected she was not of British origin. What puzzled Moody and set him on edge was how bewildered she was as they entered the village.

"Village," she grumbled in disbelief, eyes looking ready to pop out of their sockets. "A village? I thought those existed centuries ago. _Villages_." She repeated as if to convince herself.

"Here's the phone booth," announced Moody loudly, startling her. The few villagers out in the rain had given them a wide berth, mostly due to Moody's appearance. "Get in." He dropped a few 'shillings' in her hands. She counted them before she headed in.

Moody observed her using it. She ended the call barely a minute later, frowning deeply. "Well?" he prompted, eager to get home and glare at his letter. He needed to come up with very good reasons as to why he should remain an Auror.

"I'll try my Dad," she told him, inserting the coins and pressing the buttons depicting numbers. She tried for at least another ten to fifteen minutes, calling people ranging from her siblings to neighbors before giving up and hugging her knees to herself; she huddled at the corner of the phone booth, looking dejected and terrified.

Lightning flashed and brought her scared face into sharp relief. It was starting to rain harder.

"Let's go back to my house. We'll try again later," he said, snapping her out of it.

She looked up at him, mismatched colored eyes wide. "I... it's supposed to me Saturday. My parents are usually home."

Moody chalked this up as kids not knowing the days of the week. Or her calendar was outdated. "It's Wednesday, girly." From the looks they gave one another, it was clear that they thought the other was outdated.

"I'm pretty sure today is October 7th..."

Suspicion settled in Moody's mind. October? _OCTOBER?_ Either this girl was wronged in the head or it was something else entirely. "It's April 30th, girl."

Something like horrified disbelief mixed with realization dawned on her face. "What year is it?"

"It's the year 1985."

The girl scrambled to her feet so quickly she put the lightning flashing overhead to shame. "_WHAT_?" she shrieked. Moody winced. "It's the year 2014, old man! Get with the times!"

Great. Just what Moody needed: a time-travelling kid.

"Stop screaming," he growled at her. It was time to pay Dumbledore a visit. "We'll sort this magical mishap up—"

"MAGICAL? _MAGICAL?_ THIS IS NOT MAGIC! THIS IS A _NIGHTMARE_!"

The girl had a set of powerful lungs on her. She was gripping her head, shaking it vigorously as if to wake herself up. "No way, no way," she was muttering wildly to herself. Her eyes were wild with panic as she gazed down at her own body. Then she fixed her startled gaze on him. "Who did you say you were again?"

"Me?" Did she know him from the History books? "I'm Alastor Moody, better known as Mad-Eye."

Thunder roared like a sudden loss of temper and the next thing Moody knew, she'd fainted.

**:: :: ::**

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><p><strong>[AN]:** A rewrite of Darker Than Black? Not really. The character is different. It may seem like time-travel but the SI/OC is actually from our world. This story will be narrated mostly by the SI/OC in third perspective and for the first few chapters, Moody would also help move the story along.

**Published:** 10th October, 2014.

**Status:** Unbeta'ed.

**Question:** Theories about the body the OC is inhabiting? Background of the kid, maybe?

_Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>The Caliginous Future<strong>

**Chapter 1**

by GaleSynch

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><p>Moody tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace. His parents hadn't encouraged him to use the Floo network because your worst enemy could always leap through the fire and into the hearth of your home—and Moody wholeheartedly agreed.<p>

Moody pointedly ignored the time-travelling girl's pacing, cursing and bouts of hysteria in favor of contacting Dumbledore. "Albus? You free? I need your help. It would be much appreciated if you could come, at your earliest convenience."

"Dumbledore," whispered the girl incredulously, "I'm gonna meet a dumb door? He threw sand into the fireplace and talks to it? What the heck? He's crazy. I'm sane. I need to call the hospital." Here, she paused to shoot Moody a deep look of distrust before ducking under the sofa for more cover. "I'm pretty sure it's 911... 999? No, 910."

That was when the flames roared, startling the girl so badly she jumped. Her heterochromic eyes peered suspiciously over the sofa as Moody's old friend stepped through.

"Oh, dear." The following _thump!_ told Moody that she'd either fainted again or she was so shocked she fell back.

"Good day, Alastor, it's always wonderful to see you but..." Albus Dumbledore glanced bemusedly around, as if expecting trouble, but smiled nevertheless. "I thought I saw a child's face?"

Before Moody could answer, his charge started moaning in despair. "I've lost my marbles... nooooo! I don't wanna go into an asylum!"

Moody gestured for Dumbledore to follow him and both men rounded the sofa to peer at the girl who'd taken cover under the tea table, being small enough to do so. "Er, Alastor?" inquired Dumbledore, looking amused but still uncomprehending nonetheless.

"I have reason to believe she's a time-traveler," declared Moody, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about laughter on Albus' part.

"No!" cried the girl. "I'm an alien!"

"She is full of sarcasm, she is," growled Moody, shooting her a deep glare that quelled her into silence. "She claims to be from the year 2014."

"And he says he's from 1984—who's the nutty one?" The girl muttered moodily. She crossed her arms and rested her chin there. "Hmph! And he asks an old guy who looks more senile than he is."

"You are well aware, young lady, that we can hear every word you speak, are you not?" Far from offended as would've been expected from anyone, Albus Dumbledore was smiling. The girl _was_ rather adorable. She glared viciously at Albus but the effect of her glare was nullified by her young, four-year-old appearance.

"Can't be; old people are deaf," she delivered this part loudly on the account of old men being deaf.

"Time travel, Albus?" prompted Moody.

"Well, let's sort this out," agreed Albus warily. He waved his hand and the tea table flew off the girl, depriving her of her hiding place. She jumped to her feet, startled and scared, as she backed away so quickly she bumped into the wall but did not react. Albus gently set the table down. "Child, do you know of magic?"

"I— I—you— WHAT SORT OF QUESTION IS THAT?" Albus looked taken aback by the increased volume; Moody was used to her outbursts now. "I JUST SAW YOU MOVE THAT TABLE WITHOUT TOUCHING IT! Either I'm crazy or that's magic!"

"True. Do you know magic before this?"

The girl's eyes darted around, as if she wanted to escape. "I- I dunno. There's this one time my pencil rolled off the table without warning."

That didn't say much; it could've been the wind if she had left the window open. "Child—er, I think we forgot to introduce ourselves." Trying for a winning smile, Albus approached the girl. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. And you might be?"

The girl jutted her chin defiantly. "I won't tell you. Never!" And she turned away.

"Just call her Ankaa," Moody said, sitting down heavily on his makeshift bed. His body had been stiff all day from last night's not-too-good sleep where he had slept straight-backed. "That's what it says on her robe. I found her by my doorstep, among the trash."

Ankaa's jaw clenched. "I'm—not—trash," she snapped waspishly.

Albus studied her curiously. Evidently the implication she might be worth no more than trash was something she was extremely shirty about. His eyes softened at the implications of such a childhood. While she might have the body of a young child, his brief glimpse of her uniquely colored eyes gave the impression she was much older in mind. Albus didn't want to think of what could cause a child to grow up so quickly.

"Ankaa—mind if I call you that? It's a sweet name, it means phoenix and I like phoenixes. They're beautiful creatures, they are." Albus sat down beside Moody; he was much taller than her and he was afraid he'd intimidated her by towering over her.

She darted a quick look at them, noticing that both were sitting, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. "...You speak as if they're real."

_She's very perceptive._ Smiling at her less-hostile tone, Albus snapped his fingers. "Fawkes?" His friend phoenix appeared in a mini tornado of flames. Ankaa looked more intrigued by the new arrival than scared. It could be easily explained since Fawkes was now a fully-grown phoenix again and thus, was a magnificent sight to behold. Even Moody had turned in his seat to appraise Fawkes.

Fawkes tilted his head to examine her. With an approving caw, he took flight and tackled the girl who finally smiled—the first positive emotion he'd seen on her face in their short meeting.

Albus smiled. "Why don't you two play outside with the gnomes?"

"See ya, old men!" Cackling, she shot off after Fawkes.

Moody's face turned grim when he looked at his friend. "I can see that Fawkes has taken a liking to her... but that does not mean—"

"I'm uncertain about time travelling so permanently especially since she has no device other than the robes," said Albus slowly, retrieving the robes Ankaa had been said to don when Moody had first found her and running his finger to test for a magical signature. "She claims to have come from thirty years into the future... that could be true and we had a breakthrough sometime during her time or everything is merely her imagination... No backlash or injury? Doubtful, especially since she is so young. Or perhaps it _is_ exactly because of her young age that they use her in their experiment... or maybe her body digressed with the strain of travelling back in time? Hm..."

"What should I do with her, Albus?" Moody asked, not at all offended that his theory was shot down. He was quick to interrupt because his old friend's twinkling blue eyes had taken on the misty quality that told Moody Albus was ready to take flight into the unknown and only brilliant minds could comprehend. "She knows how to use Muggle facilities such as the phone booth but she claims that the numbers she called are all unregistered."

"Muggle parents?" he echoed. "I'll return to Hogwarts and check to see if her name has been written down. If it has been, perhaps I can track down her parents. For the time being, will you please take care of her?"

Moody sighed. "All right, Albus."

Albus clapped Moody's shoulder, smiling. "She would do you good. I heard about your retirement—"

"No, I'm not about to retire," retorted Moody gruffly. "I'd fight for my right to continue battling the Dark Forces."

"—and raising her could be a way to pass time."

Moody scrutinized Albus carefully. "You're talking as if she'd be stuck with me permanently."

"If possible, I'd like you to inquire her about the events she knows about happening during her time. I will pay a visit soon," said Albus. "Come, Fawkes, time to say goodbye to your little friend."

Ankaa and Fawkes had left the front door wide open—so that both Albus and Moody could have easy access should anyone leap out of the bushes and start firing curses wildly.

Ankaa, and Fawkes in her wake, was quick to dart in, pouting, looking highly disappointed. "Offer a shred of fun and magic and take him away?"

"We—including you—_are_ magic, girl," grunted Moody.

"Really?" she asked, sounding doubtful. "Dumb-door looks like a wizard. But you look like a monster."

Moody scowled at her. "Show some respect, kid," he grunted even though he wasn't offended about what she'd said concerning him. He was offended on Albus' behalf. "This man here is the greatest sorcerer in the world."

"Please, Alastor, I haven't blushed so much since Minerva told me I was too noble to resort to certain means." Ankaa frowned, uncomprehending of what they were saying but the dubious glance she toss Albus made him chortle; ruffling her hair, he made to leave. "Good day to both of you." He took Ankaa's robes, folding it up carefully, grasped Fawkes tail and disappeared in a burst of flames.

Ankaa clapped. "I wanna try that someday!"

"Oh you will all right. Firstly, take a bath. The bathroom is next to the kitchen... I'll get you my nephew's clothes."

**:: :: ::**

Ankaa sounded a lot like Anna—which happened to be her real name. Which made it easy to answer to the old men when they addressed her as Ankaa. To be honest, she quite liked Ankaa: it meant phoenix and it sounded enough like Anna, which was a common name though very pretty in itself and she liked her birth name.

So, Ankaa she would be, for the time being.

Honestly, names were the last thing on her mind when she had to worry about her whereabouts.

Once she was alone in the bathroom, she stripped her dirty clothes mechanically, without real conscious thoughts of what she was doing.

She was in the world of Harry Potter. The Wizarding World and she'd met ALBUS DUMBLEDORE and ALASTOR MOODY! Understandably, Ankaa had fainted when she first learned where she was. This was a fictional world and yet, here she was. Ankaa didn't know whether to laugh or dance—she'd already fainted so that option was out as fainting twice had no much use.

However, elation aside, she felt trepidation.

The world of Harry Potter was not a happy one. Harry had been through bad times in the books, sure, but he had the power of Protagonist Armor to prevent him from dying—if not that, then his mother's love that acted as a barrier for anything. But while he'd been safe at Hogwarts, come fifth year and the death count had been rising rapidly.

Ankaa feared she would be one of those that upped the death counts (not by being a Death Eater, but by dying).

Ankaa didn't know how she got here but she was scared. She didn't want to be experimented on for the rest of her life. Dumbledore was a Legilimens and so were other characters. One glimpse into her mind and she would be busted. Ankaa didn't know how bad things could be if they knew she wasn't of this world, but she assumed it was TERRIBLE so she tried her best to act as a child.

_Thank you, Mr Garcia, for forcing me into drama and to think I used to wish you'd fall down the stairs and break your neck._ Ankaa had been in tons of plays in her school-life—so she had tons of practice to help her.

But it had been a long time since she was close to any child. Children accepted magic easily, didn't they?

So she'd accept magic.

It was hard to not accept it when she was already in this situation.

Drying herself with the towel she'd found, she called for Moody to get her a change of clothes.

**:: :: ::**

_Ankaa, my name is Ankaa now. No last name 'coz I have no idea whose body this is. And if I learned I was related to Voldemort or am a Basilisk's uncle, I'd get used to it. It's TOTALLY NORMAL!_

Moody, Ankaa learned, was a surprisingly good cook. Scrambled eggs, toasts and sausages laid spread out in front of her; her stomach growled in approval and she didn't bother with table manners when she was ravenous enough to eat a bull. She was munching on her toast when she noticed that Moody was glaring at a letter.

"What's that?" she asked with no reservation. Children were blunt and, uh, not shy?

Moody grunted in disapproval. "A letter telling me to retire."

"What's your job?"

"Auror."

"Aura?" she echoed, blinking. While she'd been a Harry Potter fan as a child, she couldn't be expected to remember _every_ single thing.

"An Auror is a member of an elite unit of highly-trained, specialist officers within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic trained to investigate crimes related to the Dark Arts, and apprehend or detain Dark wizards and witches."

"Essentially," concluded Ankaa, "this makes them the magic world equivalent of police officers?"

"People tasked with law enforcement?"

"No, they pick up the garbage of society—well, duh!" Ankaa quailed and sipped her hot chocolate when Moody leveled her with a glare. He was intimidating; his face was littered with scars and it seemed so worn into his skin, she wondered if he'd been born with such a face.

She snorted a face-ful of hot chocolate at the thought of him as an infant. He arched a brow at her and she avoided his gaze. Just in case.

"You're retiring," she said, "that's good. Less risk. Live a peaceful life and, uh, I dunno... find a wife?"_ Tough luck bro,_ she thought even as she tried to smile encouragingly when what she really wanted to do was break into snickers. "How old are you?" she asked.

"How old are _you_?"

"Five, maybe," she said dubiously. She'd glanced into the bathroom mirror earlier and had been taken aback—pleasantly surprised—by her appearance. Heterochromic eyes: magenta and grey eyes had gazed back at her, wide in its sockets. Her skin was pale and she had wavy black hair. "You? I think you're fifty."

"I'm thirty-seven, girl," he growled in response. The conversation broke off from there. There wasn't much they could talk about. But the silence was so awkward Ankaa eventually coaxed Moody into telling her more about the Ministry.

He only answered vaguely and Ankaa suspected she knew why. Because she was, technically, an anomaly and he feared she was a Death Eater spy that was sent there to gather information. Sheesh, talk about paranoid. It would be much tougher to avoid detection beneath this watchful eyes but she'd give it her best shot.

Her mom had been a star when it came to acting and scamming and she'd learned from the best.

**:: :: ::**

The following weeks passed eventfully, for Ankaa at least. Dumbledore—to whom she had taken to calling Mr Allie—had visited at least three times and the men not-so-discreetly kicked her out of the house with Fawkes to play with while they conversed. Moody looked grimmer with each meeting.

Ankaa would've paid a million Galleons to know what he was thinking when he frowned deeply at her. She wanted to learn Legilimency but Moody didn't seem to have books about those so she stuck with what Snape had advised Harry. Keep a clear mind—meditate—every night.

Ankaa was finally allowed permission to head into his tiny library upstairs—which also held her new bedroom. Ankaa had nothing else to do but read, read and read. It was interesting to learn about Wizarding History and she got lost in it pretty quickly; more often than not, Moody had to haul her out for dinner.

Aside from academics, Moody taught her how to clean, cook, sew and hunt. Like, _without_ magic. ("What if you were deprived of your wand and you needed to survive, girl?!") She tried her best to avoid it but when he had a magical eye to see through every hiding spot, it was pretty much an impossible feat.

Ankaa had tried to be discreet when she practiced magic. Or at least tried to anyway. She had mostly been concentrating on making tiny things move. Ankaa had read household spells (the only books concerning spells Moody had allowed her to read) and while she knew about the effects and incantations, she'd never got to trying it out.

Ankaa would've liked to try out Incendio or even Crucio but she knew she couldn't perform Dark Arts beneath Moody's nose (or what was left of it anyway).

So far, _Accio_ was the only successful wandless magic. The book had smacked her in the face and sent her flying down the stairs (admittedly, trying it out at the top of the stairs hadn't been smart in the first place but it was the first time she felt a tug in her navel that signified magic at work so she'd gave into impulse).

Ankaa did not let the golf-sized bump at the back of her head deter her. She practiced until she could catch the object she'd summoned.

Magic responded mostly to her imagination—so as long as Ankaa kept the thoughts _this is impossible_ at bay, she mostly succeeded. She could even clean without raising a hand! (Though Moody was severely unimpressed by the foam and how slippery the floor was. He tripped and started firing curses everywhere with his staff.)

Naturally, Ankaa felt tired after more than six magical feats. Then she'd toddle off for nap-time, mostly satisfied but wishing she would stop being so tired every time she played around.

Oddly enough, Moody never objected to her messing with her magic. She'd asked, of course, and he'd said that the better she was at wandless magic, the safer she'd be. Immediately after, she'd been given the lecture about safety and how to differentiate from good or bad.

Moody was probably a lonely man because he talked to her, a lot, even when she said only a good morning mid-yawn. The first time she stumbled in blearily, eyes practically glued together, he'd roared about "Constant vigilance!" and how Ankaa should sleep with one eye open, she'd jumped three foot into air.

It wasn't until their seventh (Salazar, that man was a tough, paranoid, nutty nut to crack) month together did she finally establish a trusting relationship with him.

It was also when Moody started teaching her how to defend herself. Never offensive spells to harm though, only defense. However, her _Protegeo_ was very weak (Moody broke it with a poke) and needed tons of practicing.

Moody also brewed potions in his basement, allowing her to watch and occasionally, help.

Ankaa had been properly horrified when she'd learned that the potions he brewed were poisons he'd incorporated into the food they ate in tiny amounts (for her) and moderately large amount (for him). That explained why she had stomach aches, hallucinations, loss of control over her limbs, dizziness and sudden, unreasonable faints even though she was too polite to criticize his cooking that tasted delicious.

"You'd get used to it," Moody told her. "This is for your own good! Once you're resistant to most basic poisons, your worst enemy could poison your food if you're unaware and you won't drop dead immediately!"

"Jeez," Ankaa said in return, "you would think the whole world is against me. Are you that important?" Ankaa asked with an eye-roll.

Moody was staring at Ankaa: her attire to be particular.

She knew they belonged to his nephew who'd died prior to her birth (in this world), killed by Death Eaters she heard, along with Moody's sister and brother-in-law. His parents died years ago.

She was also privy to the fact that Moody had raised his nephew for a few years before his death. When he did this, she had to assume it was because she was reminding him of his nephew.

So it was usually Ankaa's cue to sidle off to do her own thing: practicing magic that was all she did these days but she never got bored of it.

Things were mundane for a whole year—until the Death Eaters struck.

**:: :: ::**

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><p><strong>[AN]: **Not much action here but things will pick up next chapter.

**(Updated:** 17th of October** / Status:** Unbeta'ed**)**

_Review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>The Caliginous Future<strong>

**Chapter 2**

by GaleSynch

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><p>If it wasn't for Moody's insane ways of training her, Ankaa would've died when the Killing Curse was fired, accompanied by a loud bang of another spell.<p>

(Let's rewind to the day Ankaa first met Dumbledore:

Ankaa had just started flipping through the books Moody had on his tea table when something soft slammed into the back of her head; the force of the throw pushed her forward and she nearly ended up with a broken nose.

"Hey!" she cried angrily, turning to see that Moody was pointing his wand at her. Her heart was halfway out of her throat. "What gives?"

"Constant vigilance, girl!" he barked in response. "You were lax. Someone could've killed you ten times over and you wouldn't even know who had shot the curse!"

She knew he was paranoid from what he read in the books and she shared the main character's amusement at his paranoia but now that she was being subjected to it, she found it annoying. It wasn't as if Voldemort himself would strode through Moody's front doors. That wouldn't happen for about a decade.

Ankaa didn't want to irk him further by rolling her eyes so she settled for tightening her lips into a strained smile. "I'll keep that in mind, Moody, thanks."

She was about to turn away and concentrate her attention on the book when another spell burst from the tip of his wand and Ankaa raised the hard-covered book to protect her face just in the nick of time. The spell bounced off harmlessly, sparks lingered in the air before Ankaa. She swallowed nervously.

"You're learning," said Moody and there might've been a pleased and sadistic smile on his face. The surprise attacks from his spells did not stop there. For the first few days, he started off with loud spells that startle her. By the sixth time, any bangs and she'd drop to ground.

The spells that he cast silently were nothing short of _torture_.)

As it was, Ankaa was barely able to hit dirt; the Killing Curse flew past her head and collided with Moody's front door, blasting it off its hinges. Moody never let her close the door if she ever chose to go out. It would be easier for him to defend her if they were under attack.

The thought they would ever be attacked had always been surreal to her. So Ankaa was momentarily frozen stiff at the new arrivals.

While Moody had trained her for nearly a year, a time long enough for her to dodge spells—deadly-looking or harmless-sounding—he had never exactly prepared her for encounters with Death Eaters or any other Dark wizards out for vengeance beyond recognizing curses, jinxes and hexes.

Her flight-and-fight instinct kicked in and she jumped to her feet. The garden gnomes that had became her toys, experiments and playmates had scattered, leaving her with no virtual defense. "Moody!" she yelled. "There're people who are NOT friends! HELP!"

There was a whip-like _crack!_ and Moody materialized in the open doorway. Ankaa took that as the cue to flee.

Moody fired counter-curse after another while Ankaa shot off to the back, ducking when a stray _Bombarda_ nearly blew her head off and the following _Stupefy_ hit the barrel she'd ducked under.

It wasn't until Ankaa reached the backdoor of Moody's cottage that she realized she was completely and utterly terrified. In the fray—wizards shouting spells to harm and to kill—she'd been escaping, she'd forgotten about Moody's disability. He had a prosthetic leg, for crying out loud, if he was horribly outnumbered and outclassed, how was he going to escape?

_Wait, he can Apparate!_ There was no need for her to worry.

Ankaa would've been happy if she could stay there and hide until the rest was over but she knew better than no one (because everyone knew this too) that Moody would not run—he would fight until his last breath and the last thing she wanted was for him to die.

It had never dawned on her before until now: Moody was flesh and blood. He could die here and now, a bloodied splatter on his front door and not an off-screen death that would spare her the horror of his death. He wasn't twenty-six alphabets described on a page, he was _real._

The fighting was still going on. There was a yell of pain that sounded like Moody's. That was enough to get Ankaa to unlock her limbs.

Ankaa edged along the wall back to the front. She crouched low—practically crawling on all fours—as she peered around the corner. What she saw made her heart leap into her throat. Two of the cloaked and masked men had fallen to the ground, still as statues. The other two were still duelling fiercely.

There was a crack and glass shattered. The following sound, Ankaa assumed, was the sound of the western part of the wall crumbling.

"Accio," she whispered vehemently, ordering the wand of the nearest Stunned man to come to her, _this is an order and no you cannot say no_.

The wand was awkward and too long in her hands. She fumbled for a moment, unsure which was the tip, but eventually managed to get it pointing upright.

"Bombarda!" A small puff of smoke dribbled out from the tip. She grounded her teeth in frustration. This wand was stupid! Ankaa waved the wand in the familiar notion that came with the Disarming Curse. "Expelliarmus!" A flash of white accompanied the last vowel of the spoken incantation: the opponent's wand dropped.

Ankaa's surprise was mirrored by her target; the Dark wizard momentarily confused before he spotted Ankaa. He was quick to snatch his wand but his momentary distraction cost him: Moody's Stunning Spell hit him square in the head and he went flying to join his fellow.

With only him left, the remaining Dark Wizard was quick to retreat. He Disapparated, leaving his allies behind. Ankaa wasn't sure if she felt sorry for the fallen wizards or she was relieved they would be locked up forever. Eventually, she chose the latter.

"Ankaa?" called Moody hoarsely.

"I'm here," she said meekly, crawling out of her hiding spot. She didn't feel as if she could stand. The last of the adrenalin was oozing out of her bloodstream. "Too much excitement for one day," she groaned, "and it's only ten in the morning!"

She looked up as Moody bounded the men non-verbally.

The small, genuine, accomplished smile made her grin despite the scars.

**:: :: ::**

Only one of the three men was a former Death Eater; the other two were family members of a Death Eater Moody had killed. Moody had told Ankaa, against the Ministry officer's wishes and the officer looked properly appalled at having a child her age being told the explicit details, but that was because the more she knew, the safer she would be.

Ankaa would have to be more cautious and wary.

Ankaa was extremely reluctant to hand the wand over but the Ministry needed the wands to identify the wizard. The Ministry officer had to wrestle her for the wand.

"Oh, stop pouting," grouched Moody in St. Mungo's. Moody had unsuccessfully been waving the Healers away and only stayed put when the Head Healer threatened to tranquilize him. She was one scary old lady. Even Moody was cowed into submission! "You'll get a wand of your own when you're eleven—at Ollivander's, they provide the best." He patted his staff he refused to release. "This was specially made by him, as well."

Ankaa listened with rapt attention. She liked hearing everything about the magical world and Moody's experience. This was a whole new world full of fun, adventures and dangers alike. She knew the script of the story-line somewhat and with that knowledge, she would try to protect herself—and Moody.

Mundungus Fletcher left him to die; she wouldn't. She swore she wouldn't.

"Hey, Moody, can I go wander around?"

"Not into the Muggle world," he said, agreeing.

Ankaa nodded and slipped out of her seat. She peered into every ward, marveling at the injuries the magical kind could suffer despite their superior abilities to Muggles. She guessed silliness was something inherent in humans and couldn't be changed regardless of magic.

Ankaa wasn't, however, wandering around as aimlessly as everyone who saw her assumed to be. She was heading towards the ward where they kept the permanent patients. Frank and Alice Longbottom were a vague destination in mind; to be frank, she was keen to see heroes-gone-to-seed.

Ankaa would be the first to admit that the Death Eaters had gone too far. But... but... these were highly respected Aurors! Why couldn't they have performed wandless magic to save their asses?! Not to mention incompetent allies: how long did it take for one to be tortured into insanity? Why couldn't their friends have noticed sooner?

She kept the speculation to herself but she could tell the difference between highly-_respected_ and highly-_skilled_.

Much to her displeasure, the Janus Thickery Ward was closed off and locked to her; the Healer gently ushered her out. Ankaa let out an irritated huff. "I'm an adult!" she said angrily, not lying at all. "I refuse to be treated like a child—"

"In due time, dear." The worse part? The Healer sounded so nice when she said it. Ankaa petulantly dug her feet in the ground, not really caring if she couldn't see the ex-Aurors but she did it because she wanted to annoy her. Ankaa's favorite past time as a child had always been to be as annoying as possible.

But once she grew up, she'd been forced to stop as mature adults just didn't behave like that. However, she was now in the body of a child. Ankaa had free-reign to return to her former past time.

"Ah, Madam Tonks!" Ankaa froze subtly at the familiar-sounding name and she turned to see who the Healer holding her bicep was addressing. The woman looked vaguely similar to someone she'd met before but she wasn't sure who. "Taking a break? If you don't mind, can you please take this child with you for tea?"

"I don't like tea," said Ankaa but Madam Tonks was striding towards her.

"I understand that children can be a bit of a handful," said Tonks, smiling kindly down at Ankaa who felt weirded out. Trying to remember where she met Tonks before was like looking at someone who was ducking around the corner and out of sight. Tonks gripped Ankaa's hand firmly, not giving the young girl a chance to escape. "I'll take her."

"Thank you," said the Healer who, upon closer inspection, looked quite young so Ankaa assumed she had no experience with children as she was not a mother. Ankaa sneered as she hurried off.

Tonks tugged gently on her hand and guided her up the stairs. "Now, where are your parents?"

"I don't know," Ankaa said honestly, glancing up at Tonks but after nearly tripping, decided to watch where she was going instead. "I came here with... with... um, Alastor Moody."

Tonks gave a startled gasp. "You mean the famous Auror? What's your connection with him?"

"Just a random kid he picked up from the trash site," Ankaa answered carelessly, internally smirking at the shocked look on the elder woman's face. "I'm Ankaa. You?" She asked casually, regardless of the age difference and how she should sound more polite.

"My name is Andromeda Tonks." With a startled cry, Ankaa tripped over the last step and fell face first onto cold, cement floor. "Ankaa!" cried Tonks, kneeling next to her and pulling her up. Ankaa's nose stung and tears of pain unintentionally sprung up to her eyes.

"Ouch," she murmured softly.

"Tsk, tsk, you've to be careful with your surroundings, Ankaa," chided Tonks as she peeled Ankaa's hands from her face, inspecting the damage. Ankaa gave a painful sniffle. Tonks drew her wand from her pocket and tapped Ankaa's nose. Ankaa felt her nose righting itself without backlash and graciously accepted the conjured handkerchief handed to her to wipe the blood from her nose.

"Do you want it back?" she asked sweetly, slightly disappointed when Tonks didn't even react to the blood. But she guessed the job came with sightseeing bloody stuff.

"Nope. You can keep it," Tonks returned as cheerfully. "Now let's go and watch your step, alright? I don't want to explain to Alastor Moody how his charge is all banged-up from a simple trip for treats."

Ankaa didn't buy anything; it was Andromeda's treat. Ankaa was sorry for ever doubting wizarding snack even though she commented that they had no sense for names. Ankaa settled for the most normal-looking snack in case she received some nasty shock in front of a complete stranger.

When they were done, Andromeda dropped her off at Moody's floor with a packet of Chocolate Frogs. "See ya!" chirped Ankaa as she sauntered to where Moody was roomed. Not that he was staying the night; true to her prediction, Ankaa peered into the room to see Moody inserting his magical eye into his socket.

"Yeuck," said Ankaa, ignoring Moody's glare. "Disgusting."

"You might have one someday."

"I don't want to be an Auror," inserted Ankaa.

Moody arched a mangled, barely-there brow. "Then what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Um." To be honest, Ankaa never gave it much thought. Now that she was a child again, she was content to learn magic and completely forget about how to raise herself. "Er... Auror, maybe? I just need to be good at fighting, right?"

Moody rolled his eyes at her. Or maybe it was just him testing his magical eye to make sure it was lodged properly in its socket.

"Ready?" Ankaa flashed him a grin. "Let's go home!"

A momentary look of surprise crossed her caretaker's face but he nodded eventually. Ankaa thought he could've been smiling.

**:: :: ::**

A week after that incident that shaken her with nightmares and night terrors, Ankaa was on a destroying-spree. Moody didn't seem to mind as she walked around the living room and destroying tiny trinkets with her hammer and repairing it with _Reparo!_ and took joy in being able to cast it wandlessly. Though not non-verbally yet but she was working on it.

The following smash as the tea table gave away completely masked Dumbledore and Fawkes' arrival; she wasn't aware until the phoenix tackled her in a bird-hug.

She nearly punched Fawkes out of the air. As it was, her right hand seized Fawkes' tail feathers rather painfully. He shot her an affronted look.

"Sorry, sorry," she grumbled as she released his tail. "Blame Moody. I swear, he takes sadistic joy out of scaring the crap out of me."

"Ankaa, dear, language." Ankaa peered past Fawkes' to see the phoenix's owner. She wiggled her fingers at him, grinning. But it dropped when he repaired the table which leg she smashed to pieces with a wave of his hand.

"Hey, I was about to demonstrate my awesome skill with that!"

Dumbledore waved his hand and the table turned into splintered wood. "Thanks," she grumbled as Fawkes (not in his usual majestic, but rather, curled in her lap as she settled down, having just recently regained his baby feathers from burning day) made himself comfortable. "What're you doing here today? Don't you have to boss teachers and students around?"

"It's summer vacation, Ankaa, no professors or students around— ah, thank you, Alastor." Dumbledore sipped his coffee as Ankaa tried to repair the damage. "Anyway, I do have a purpose for coming here. It concerns Ankaa's schooling."

"School?" Ankaa echoed incredulously, abandoning the tea table to stand and glare Dumbledore down. As he was still taller than her when he was sitting, she did not look intimidating. "What school? I AM learning! Magic!" She gestured wildly to the broken table and the legs (or what seem to be the legs) moved up feebly, stood for a grand total of five seconds before falling flat due to Ankaa's fluctuating mood.

"Learning magic is what you do when you're old enough to attend Hogwarts," said Albus softly, trying to placate the young girl who was scowling, pouting and glaring in combination. "Do you know how to read, write and count?"

"Yes!" she cried dramatically. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Fifteen times two?"

Ankaa faltered. "Er..." While she knew how to count, she wasn't best at mental calculations. However, the few seconds that it took her to answer cost her.

"You need to learn Ankaa," Moody added. "There are Muggle schools in the village."

Ankaa's mind raced, trying to look for a reason as to why she shouldn't be going to school. She was done with school—kids Ankaa's age would be unbearable! "N- No," she struggled to spit out and managed to do so in a weak voice. "I— they're different from me!" she managed feebly. They say people under pressure would show their true colors: however, Ankaa didn't work well under pressure. "I have magic and they don't!"

It was quick: both men's faces changed from light to dark to light once more. "Ankaa," started Albus bracingly, "whether those children can use magic or not doesn't matter. You are still children. Magic doesn't—"

Ankaa didn't want lectures. "So I can perform and practice magic there?"

"Er, no. Didn't Alastor tell you about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

"If Muggles and wizards are not so different," huffed Ankaa, ignoring his inquiry, "why do I need to hide?"

"Because Muggles persecute those they do not understand," grunted Moody, not bothering to sugarcoat anything to the girl. "Trust me, girl, you don't want to reveal magic." The ominous tone he took on when he said that made Ankaa gulp. She studied both men, turning to Fawkes for comfort but realized the phoenix was sleeping and scowled darkly.

She knew this was a losing battle though. "Fine," she grouched. "But Moody can't enroll me."

"Why not?"

"Because... because —ergh, I like you Moody, I really do but your appearance—the Muggles'd be suspicious and I'd be relentlessly teased by the kids!"

Ankaa knew a lot about mean kids and the freaky kid: freaky kid was often bullied by the meanies.

"Then I'd go with you," offered Albus brightly and with a heavy sigh, Ankaa resigned herself for the fate of school loser.

**:: :: ::**

Ankaa's prediction—as usual—was not far off the mark. Ankaa didn't know where to hide her face when Albus walked her into school, under all the kids' looks, beaming with no care in the world. He dressed in wizarding robes and he stood out even if someone were looking from a mile away.

She was just glad she had the foresight to stop Moody from coming. Or maybe she should get him in the first place. His terrifying appearance would've scared them away.

Albus posed as her grandfather. Her alias would be Ankaa Dumbeldore. This was terrible. She sincerely regretted butchering his last name to Dumb-Door because the kids called her that too and tons of stupid, ridiculous jokes about doors were made.

This was a tiny, backwater village where old people clung to old superstitions. Moody couldn't have chosen a worse place for a wizarding child to live.

Ankaa had gotten used to her heterochromic eyes; she marveled at the grey and found the red of her eye to be pretty, like a ruby. Albus and Alastor had shared the same sentiments. Her classmates and teachers... eh, not so.

She'd heard a particularly old, crotchety teacher whispering, "Devil's child," in passing, thinking that Ankaa couldn't hear her.

Fortunately, Ankaa had always been creative with pranks and with no one in sight to prove otherwise, could use wandless, non-verbal magic to cause certain incidents that would last for several decades. Or maybe not. Ankaa doubted anyone would be interested to describe an old lady in her seventies' taste in panties.

Her taste for pranks however, could be talked about.

Most kids correctly suspected Ankaa was behind it since, instead of looking surprised or horrified like the others when these incidents occurred, she was smiling most of the time. However, there was no proof and after realizing that Ankaa could humiliate them without physically lifting a finger, the bullies backed off after the fourth month where Prissy Grace broke her ankle a mere ten minutes after upturning Ankaa's lunchbox all over her shirt.

A terrified scream tore Ankaa from her reverie that revised through the five months she'd been at the Muggle school, suffering. Surprised at the disturbance, Ankaa looked up from where she was sitting and reading—alone, at her own lunch table that people avoided and acknowledged as hers; it was lonely but she found it soothing for her mental state.

It was one of her classmate: Gigi McAfee. Her slights against Ankaa were minor enough for the heterochromic-girl to forget about those.

Gigi practically climbed onto her lunch table. "Rat!" she screamed, pointing a hysterical finger. Several other girls leapt up and started screaming and even the boys looked squeamish. "Get it!"

Ankaa suppressed a snort—until she realized the rat was speeding towards her. Blanching, she grasped the fork she was holding, lurched off her seat and stabbed downwards wildly, ignoring the spaghetti and sauce splashing down her front.

By blind luck, Ankaa had gotten the rat—stabbed right through its body. Ankaa grimaced in disgust at the blood and released her hold on the fork, deciding to throw it away. Silence was reigning and she looked up to see Gigi's sheet-white face. "What?" she asked to the silent children. "I killed it for you."

With a loud whimper, Gigi ran out of the lunchroom, hand firmly clamped on her mouth and looking faintly green; she wasn't the only one.

Bewildered, Ankaa got to her feet. When no one offered her an answer, she gathered her book and lidded her lunchbox, having lost her appetite. She was about to return to her classroom when a teacher came running towards her. "Ms Dumbledore!"

She stopped, looking back. "What?" she asked offhandedly. This was her form teacher, Mrs Prescott, but Ankaa was not her favorite nor did the woman call on her name often: Ankaa was only called upon when the teacher saw her nodding off.

Mrs Prescott looked deeply disturbed. "Please come with me to the headmistress' office."

Baffled, she asked, "Why?"

"No questions. Come." Seeing no other choice, Ankaa followed her form teacher, lips pressed in a thin, angry line. The headmistress seemed as surprised by their arrival. There was a young woman there, Ankaa did not recognize her though she swore they'd met.

Ankaa felt an odd spark of familiarity and trepidation when she gazed at the blue-eyed woman. A sharp gasp escaped the stranger's lips.

"An— Ankaa?"

Ankaa had came to school today, prepared for a mundane day but surprises kept popping up. Trying not to look too puzzled, Ankaa stared oddly at the woman. "You _know_ me?"

"It's me: Rebecca! I work at Clemens' Orphanage!" The woman who introduced as Rebecca looked accusingly at Ankaa but the girl was completely at sea. There was something prickling behind her eyes.

She didn't know how to answer to that though. So Ankaa settled for saying, "Er, good for you."

"Ankaa, how did you get here? You were missing for more than a year! Do you know what we went through when we found you missing from the orphanage?!"

"Wait, I live in your orphanage? Ankaa's voice was laced with incredulity; the headmistress and Mrs Prescott's faces reflected the bafflement Ankaa felt.

"Selective memory loss?" asked Rebecca, looking severe and unimpressed. "You've been with us your whole life, Ankaa. And it's time you went back."

**:: :: ::**

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><p><strong>(Updated: <strong>3rd of November**;** **Status:** Unbeta'ed**)**

**Question: **Which House would you like to see her in? Or which House you'd think she'd fit in best.

Review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>The Caliginous Future<strong>

**Chapter 3**

by GaleSynch

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><p>Rebecca stared, mildly annoyed, down at the young girl who'd gone missing and thrown the authorities into an uproar. Her mother was in charge of that place and if a kid ended up dead... who knows what that would do to their reputation. She was surprised to see the girl here, in school, and looking healthy—and most of all, happy and contented.<p>

Rebecca blinked and the next thing she saw was Ankaa tearing down the hallway, already out of the room and the cries of the teachers were ringing in her ears. Rebecca took off after the girl.

Her legs were longer and she was much faster; her hand closed around the younger girl's bicep; slender, womanly fingers trapping the quivering, small arm.

"No!" Ankaa shouted angrily, alarmed, throwing the offender off. She whirled around, chest heaving, to glare at Rebecca who flinched.

Ankaa's left eye had always been a source of mystery, wariness, apprehension and curiosity. It glowed red whenever the girl was feeling a strong emotion and was certainly bright in the dark. Many children, and adults even, isolated her due to her magenta-colored eye.

_Child of a witch._

"What are you talking about?" asked Rebecca, trying to keep the apprehension from her voice. "Everyone's worried sick!" That was stretching it. No one really cared. And Ankaa's bed had already been occupied by new arrivals. She probably would have to sleep on the floor until they bought a new bunk bed. That was the girl's fault for running away anyhow.

"I'm happy here," the child insisted. "I have a family now!"

"Who?" she demanded.

"Becks! Ms Dumbledore!" Ankaa bristled angrily, fixing her glare on the headmistress and Mrs Prescott. Rebecca turned to address her aunt. "She has a relative?"

"A foster grandfather," answered Mrs Prescott through gasps in between. "Should we contact him?"

"Hey, stay where you are!" cried Rebecca, spotting Ankaa fleeing. But the girl rounded the corner and the sounds of her footsteps faded into the distance. "Where does she live?"

"At the outskirts of town with her grandfather I assume," answered her aunt, in clipped tones. "Have you seen her eye? Why is it glowing?" There was only a hint of incredulity in her carefully controlled voice.

Rebecca waved the question away. "She's a freak, that's what. But the kid's our responsibility and if this old man is harmful and we purposefully let her stay with him—especially since we're well-aware of it—we're screwed."

"Shall I accompany you? I'm the girl's form teacher," said Prescott. "And I'm more familiar with this town's layout." Rebecca agreed to be accompanied and the two women stepped out of the school; no Ankaa in sight. That was quick. But Rebecca was used to the girl disappearing from the scene of a crime very quickly so she wasn't surprised. "So," said Prescott, breaking the silence between the two strangers. "Has Ms Dumbledore always been like this?"

"Dumbledore? She has no last name. We got her as a baby, swaddled in those odd robes she always wears as a reminder, with the name Ankaa sewn on it," said Rebecca, frowning. "It was a boy, very young, barely into his twenties, I reckon, who gave her to us."

Sudden understanding flooded Mrs Prescott's face. "Ah, a bastard?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Mom asked and he said, _'This is my... acquaintance's daughter.'_ Bunch of codswallop if you ask me. He's old enough to be her father, reckoned he doesn't want the responsibility is all. He didn't say what her name was though, so we assumed Ankaa was her name."

"The red eye?" prompted the Muggle teacher as they traipsed through the streets. The town was a small, backwater one and most places could be accessed through foot; cars were transports to reach the cities, nothing more. There was also a train station but that was it. All in all, this place was pretty cut-off from the last, bustling city and thus, remained unpolluted by cars and were instead, surrounded by the nature of the earth.

"Always been like that. But she could do things... odd, things." The breath was leaving Rebecca quicker now that they had done a good fifteen minutes walking. Mrs Prescott was also breathing heavily but Rebecca thought the woman was doing OK for someone her age. "Without touching things, she could make it move; she talked to animals and they obeyed her. And, I swear, she flew—_twice_!"

Mrs Prescott frowned, disbelief etched onto her face. "You're saying she's special?"

"Just different," said Rebecca, not liking how Mrs Prescott said 'special'. "It's just like magi—WHOAH!"

For, with a whip-like crack, a creature had appeared in front of them. Rebecca's shout was echoed by Mrs Prescott's shriek of fear and surprise. Upon closer inspection, it was a man: a human whose face seemed to have been carved by knives. Rebecca only had a split second to register the ball of an eye, the prosthetic wooden leg, Ankaa's magenta-grey eyes peering at her from behind the monstrous man before he raised a thin stripe of wood in front of her face.

"Wha—?"

"_Obliviate!_"

Rebecca felt as if she was drowning in Ankaa's magenta eye: drowning, sucked in the red of the irises—

She jerked. Rebecca's eyes flew open; for a frightening moment, she did not know who she was, where she was or when the day was. After a split second moment of terror, everything came flooding back: she'd gone for a walk and chat with Mrs Prescott, she was aspiring to be a teacher... she ... she tripped and fell. Yeah, that was it.

Rebecca looked round and saw Mrs Prescott groaning, pushing herself up. "Dear, dear, we fell asleep?"

"Um, what were we talking about again?"

**:: :: ::**

"We learn normal stuff like reading, writing and counting," said Ankaa. "I think Moody can teach me. There's no need for Muggle school."

"After that disastrous attempt," growled Moody. "I think not."

It was exactly a week after the Rebecca incident, which they were currently recounting to Dumbledore. Ankaa had been withdrawn from school and was currently enrolled in nowhere. At least she knew she would be going to Hogwarts in four years time.

"Maybe you can try at the city?" suggested Dumbledore, a glint in his eyes.

Ankaa was uncomfortable with that look. "The city? _More Muggles_?" Ankaa failed to curb the disgust in her tone. To be fair, her experience with Rebecca was nothing short of startling, confusing and terrifying.

"Ankaa, forgive and forget, dear."

"Right," she scoffed in response to Dumbledore's advice, skeptical.

Dumbledore, however, did not share her skepticism. Ankaa clearly had no friends, due to her appearance, but he was sure the child would not mind. Harry had no friends and no love; Dumbledore's heart ached for him but the blood wards kept Harry safe so removing him was not optional. Giving the boy support, however, was not out of the question.

Surely, Ankaa would gravitate to the boy who was as different as she was.

"What're you planning?" Ankaa demanded after a few moments of silence.

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, I do have a new school in mind."

"Doesn't sound like Hogwarts."

**:: :: ::**

A week later saw seven-year-old Ankaa Moody—"No more dumb door jokes, please."—leaning against the wall out of her soon-to-be-classroom. Her lips pursed in unhappiness. She'd sulked and attempted to hide but Moody just dragged her down and made her go to school.

Being the new student sucks.

She scuffed the ground with her toe, scowling. Then she heard the teacher call her name. Ankaa knew she didn't look friendly especially since she was introducing herself through gritted teeth and her expression was a few steps short of a deadly glare.

Her classmates ogled her, not saying anything, having decided that Ankaa was in a pissy mood. Without waiting for the teacher's instructions, Ankaa strode to join the rest of the class and dump her book bag in the empty seat clustered between a blonde boy and a brunette.

"That's Pierre's seat," snapped the blonde.

"Do I look like I care?" Ankaa snarled in response as the class teacher called for the class to be quiet. They were half an hour into the class when Ankaa saw, for the first time, who the brunette beside her was.

Unseen by the teacher who was droning on about this place and other, Ankaa and the blonde brat had been locked in combat. Well, they'd been kicking one another. Ankaa was extremely quick on her feet—thanks, Moody—and she dodged his poorly-aimed kick.

Her table lurched sideways and her pencil case spilled off the side of the desk. She scowled and shot the brat the nastiest glare she had in her arsenal. Her fingers twitched; she had to make sure the teacher's back was turned before she summoned the pencil case back.

"Here," said a quiet voice, and, surprised, she turned to see who had gingerly placed her pencil case on her desk.

"Thanks," she said distractedly, finding the green eyes behind those round glasses familiar. Then he shifted back into his seat, his black hair falling away to reveal a lightning-shaped scar.

"Ah!" His hand flew to cover his scar once their eyes met.

"Is something wrong, Mr Potter?" Their form teacher was there in under half a second. How she cleared the space was a mystery to Ankaa since they sat in the last row: must be some teacher powers. Or, if this was Harry Potter, she could be a witch. Ankaa wouldn't put it past Dumbledore.

_Now I know why he sent me here,_ Ankaa thought, rolling her eyes.

"N-no," said Harry Potter, casting Ankaa an odd look. He flattened his bangs to hide his scar. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I disrupted class, ma'am."

"Hm. Copy your homework, young man." Then she turned on Ankaa and the blonde boy. "Ms Moody, Mr Dursley, that applies to you as well."

Ankaa did not grace the teacher with a verbal answer, instead, she flipped open her exercise book to start copying whatever they had to do once they had free time. Ankaa figured she would do it on the train. There was a train directly from here to the town she lived in: it was at least two hours' journey and very few people ever went there except to those who went to work in the city, and she liked the silence. It also gave her time to do her homework and practice magic.

Ankaa tore off a piece of paper and scribbled in it, _What was hurting you earlier?_ and tossed it to Harry's desk when the teacher wasn't looking.

Harry noticed and unfolded it, eyes scanning the note. Fortunately, he had enough sense to wait till the teacher's back was turned before he returned the note. Ankaa read it: _I'm not sure. Your eyes are weird._

She snorted, passing the note with her answer on it. _It's called genetics. You learn it in Science. I happen to like my eyes._

_They're cool, I guess. Should we even be passing notes?_

_No. It's against the rules but we do it anyway, because we really want to communicate with out friends._

_Friends?_ He glanced at me, looking quite surprised.

Oh, Dumbledore, Ankaa saw through your scheme. She pressed the note into Harry's hand:_ Unless you think you're too cool to be my friend, sure, we're mates_.

The beatific smile he gave her was a little heartbreaking.

**:: :: ::**

Once lunch-break started, Ankaa pulled her chair to sit at Harry's desk. "Let's be properly introduced. My name's Ankaa. You?"

"Harry Potter," he said as he brought out his lunch. There was only one apple. Ankaa's stomach growled in annoyance at the sight of them._ No way am I accepting those_, the growling seemed to say.

_Yeesh. We're not eating that. We're eating this_, she thought to herself, unlidding her lunchbox to her own eyes. Her stomach calmed down immediately when her brain registered the cheeseburgers. She caught Harry's eye, noticed how pathetically small his apple was and said, "Want one?"

"It's... OK?"

"Sure."

Harry, Ankaa realized with relief, was a fresh change of air. He was not overly exuberant (that was Ankaa's job) and he was quite thoughtful; he offered to show her around. He was a nice kid: a statement that went on to prove to Ankaa that the nicest people had the rottenest luck.

Case in point, they returned to the classroom only to find their bags on the floor, the cover of their books torn. Ankaa saw red. She saw Dudley Dursley and a couple of his friends and snarled quietly as she went to Harry's side, picking the books up. Harry was quiet, he was upset obviously.

"Why did you do this?" Ankaa stalked over to Dudley, glaring as she gestured to Harry's ruined books. Her bag was spilled on the ground, her pencils snapped but her possessions were better than Harry's.

"You messed with me!" said Dudley angrily, cheeks flushed red.

Ankaa took no shit from anyone. "You're going to pay," she promised, stomping back to where Harry was placing what remained of his stationary set on the table. Ankaa picked everything up and stuffed it into his bag.

"What're you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Wait for it..." she said lowly, feeling for her magic. She siphoned magic from her core, channeling it into her fingers. "Reparo," she whispered under her breath, feeling his books, pencils and rules mending together. "Done," she said, whirling around with an excited grin on her face. She liked to show off. "Watch!" she crowed, pouring out the newly repaired stationary set.

Harry's jaw dropped; Dudley and his gang looked shocked beyond words but the teacher came into class and ordered them back to their seats before anyone of them but Harry could say, "Awesome!"

"How did you do that?" he inquired, grinning, as he returned to his seat.

"Magic," Ankaa answered promptly.

**:: :: ::**

There were a few more incidents like those but after hearing of her special ability to mend things, everyone came to her to mend this and that. Frankly, she was tired of it. And started to demand payment. Let it never be said she was a generous, helpful person.

That privilege was Harry's only, since he happened to be her only friend. He looked significantly happier now that she'd befriended him.

She'd also told Dumbledore and Moody of this development and they seemed satisfied with this. Ankaa gains a friend; their boy savior gets a friend—everyone wins! Well, except for Voldemort. But who cares?

It was nearing four months in that school when Dudley approached her without picking a fight. She looked warily at him. "What do you want, Dursley?" she asked, not too nicely.

"I broke my rifle toy," said Dudley, placing it on her desk. He nodded politely to his cousin, with some effort. Ankaa knew he did that only because he wanted her help and mistreating Harry was a one-way ticket to get up on her hit-list. "Can you fix it for me?"

"Say please," Ankaa insisted even as she took the broken toy.

"Fine." Dudley's cheeks were reddening by the second. Harry looked quite nervous as he shifted around in his seat. "Please, Ankaa?"

"OK," she said, placing the rifle into her bag to hide from sight. She'd repaired so many things that she hardly needed to concentrate to repair it. She pulled it out of her bag and handed it back to Dudley, grinning.

"How did you do that?" the blonde boy asked curiously, examining his toy.

"Magic. I told you."

"Aunt Petunia said magic isn't real," said Harry quietly.

"And we can't say that M-word in the house," added Dudley, grunting as he waddled back to his seat next to me. Pierre Polkiss was a tad miffed that Ankaa sat in his seat after he returned from a week-break because of chicken-pox but one glare from her and he had laid off.

It was the first and last day Ankaa got along with Dudley. That was to say that they didn't fight, yell at one another or aim a kick at the other. It was the last day because, the next day, Harry and Dudley were abruptly transferred, as the teacher had told the class in clipped tones. She didn't sound very regretful. Nearly everyone knew of Dudley's troublemaker tendencies and she wasn't sorry to see the fat boy go.

"Why?" Ankaa asked, trying to curb how upset she felt at the loss of a friend. "There don't seem to be any problem."

Pierre shrugged. "Mrs Dursley came to our house last evening and she was saying how this place is haunted. Weird, I reckon, since Mrs Dursley aren't a superstitious lot."

Wait. Petunia Dursley hated magic.

Ankaa scowled. Of course; the woman was aware of magic must've known that Ankaa was a witch, which was why she removed her nephew and son of her vicinity. She sniffed angrily, glaring at the blackboard.

Life was going to be horrifyingly dull.

**:: :: ::**

Training with Moody went as usual. Summer vacation had started and to ease Ankaa's moodiness, Dumbledore and Moody agreed to bring her around the Wizarding World. On the second day of vacation, Ankaa accompanied Moody to the apothecary in Diagon Alley to buy a few ingredients for his potions and he allowed her to wander around while he met up with a few important people.

Ankaa went into Flourish and Blotts—or whatever it was called, it was a stupid name anyway—to find some interesting reading material. Moody's mini library had a lot of books about warding, defenses and magical creatures. Nothing about what _she_ wanted to read.

Ankaa was interested as to why people classify some spells as Dark Arts. How dangerous were those spells? Why, exactly, was it illegal?

If she used a Levitating Charm in a malicious way, such as dropping a heavy pot on someone's head, they might suffer from head trauma and die. And Levitating Charm did not belong in the Dark Arts category. Magic was all about control, yet they forbid the Imperius Curse.

To be fair, Ankaa wouldn't like it either if someone Imperiused her and took away all her choices. But since when had Ankaa been a fair person? She wanted to know how the Imperius Curse work... or maybe the Confundus... yes... having people agree with her so things could go her way, yep, cool spells. She must know.

Ankaa didn't think Moody would let her buy half of the books she was poring through. But it was simply impossible to read everything there and the shopkeeper's aide was glaring at her; the message was clear: this was not a library.

She could pester Moody to buy it for her. Though, just for appearance's sake, she nicked a couple of History-related books, a Mermish-English dictionary, and a couple of books pertaining to Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology.

Of course, she could smuggle it out but she didn't dare to. In her hands, she felt magic humming from the books and it had nothing do with the whatever was written in there. The shopkeeper had probably cast some sort of charm that would activate if it was brought outside without being cleared by the shopkeeper himself.

Tricky, tricky. Ankaa bet intelligent thieves could break it though. Which meant that this jinx or charm could be broken. Ankaa wandered over to the Charms section, wondering which book would help her find what she wanted.

Moody found her about nearly an hour. After a collect ten minutes of whining, begging and complaining, she finally got all the books (a total of sixteen books) she'd chosen.

On the way back to the Floo network, Ankaa stepped in random stores and groped some stuff before darting out again. She guessed right. Every shop had the same charm placed upon their merchandise.

Harry all but forgotten, she was itching to get home and find the counter-charm.

**:: :: ::**

Ankaa found comfort in books at the absence of friendship. If she played the "upset 'coz Harry's gone" card right on time, she would be getting books that Dumbledore were sent every year. Books that he had read or his knowledge was so much more accurate than what was written in there.

"Would you like to go to my birthday party?" asked Albus, surprising Ankaa enough for her to look up.

"Birthday party?" she echoed incredulously. "What's so nice about celebrating the fact that you're getting _older_? As a matter of fact, I dislike birthday parties."

"Even the part where you get presents?"

True to Albus' guess, Ankaa was quick to change her tune. "When are you going to celebrate MY birthday party?"

"We don't know when you were born," said Albus kindly. He smiled at her. "Maybe you would like to choose a date?"

Ankaa relaxed, in deep thought. "Hm... OK. If I can choose, I'm going with April 30th."

"Why is that?" he asked.

Ankaa grinned somewhat shyly. "Because that's the day I met Moody." Then, almost as an afterthought, she said, "It's also the day I escape the orphanage that I'm sure had been hell." She fiddled with the zip of her jacket. "Where's your birthday part held at?"

"Alastor," said Albus, raising his voice to be heard by Moody who was lurking upstairs doing who-knows-what. "Are you coming?"

"No, you bring the girl and go."

Ankaa sprang to her feet. "I'm bored of the same scenery anyway. I wanna go."

"It's just a small birthday part with a few of my closest friends," said Albus, taking her hand to guide her out of the house. Fawkes circled above their heads.

"Are we friends?" asked Ankaa, smiling.

"Of course we are though you are more like the granddaughter I never had." He turned to the phoenix. "We're going to Hogsmeade, the Hog's Head. Fawkes, if you'd please." He held out his forearm and the phoenix swooped in on them, firing them away.

**:: :: ::**

The first thing that drew Ankaa's attention was the scent that reminded her of a barnyard animal. Then there were a few "Blah-ha-ha" sounds that utterly baffled her. Traveling through Fawkes was little warm and she was sweating slightly but she didn't feel queasy and she felt perfectly coordinated, unlike what Floo travel or Portkey travel did to her.

She wrinkled her nose at the odor. "Ew, goats."

"My brother, Abeforth, is very fond of them. Come here, Ankaa."

She snapped her fingers and tiny pebbles flew from the ground and smacked the nearest goat in the eye. She snickered before flouncing after the Headmaster. Fawkes shot her a stern look (how did the bird learn to do that?) before disappearing into the night.

Ankaa stepped in to see about three dozen wizards and witches swooping in to greet the birthday boy. "So much for a small, private party," she muttered, slouching away. She wanted a drink so she drifted over to the bar where a very ill-tempered looking man was wiping glasses with more vigor than necessary.

"I want Butterbeer," she said and was promptly ignored.

Scowling, she stood on the tip-toes and glared at the glass. She relaxed once the glass shattered. The barman raised his blue eyes to glare at her. "You look like Albus, you're Abeforth, aren't you?"

He grunted, which she took as an affirmative as she slid into a seat. "Who're you? Wha's a kid like you doing here?"

Ankaa repeated her order. Disgruntled, he fulfilled her order by sliding a cup and poured her favorite drink into it. "Which of them is your parent kid?" he asked again, voice gruff.

"None," answered Ankaa honestly, disregarding his skeptical look. "I came here with your brother. Alastor Moody's my guardian."

"Moody? That strange bloke?"

"Funny. He said the same thing about you. Great minds think alike, I reckon," she added snidely. Abeforth scowled darkly at her. She sipped her drink, turning in her seat to look around. "So many old people..."

"This is my brother's birthday party. He's ancient, of course, his friends will be ancient," growled Abeforth.

"I know. He makes everyone around him look twenty years younger." Ankaa caught Abeforth's lips stretching and curving to form something resembling a smile. She guessed right; he liked people who didn't sing praises about Dumbledore every time they spoke. "If I ever feel old, I'd look at him."

"Hm," grunted Abeforth, but he didn't sound as gruff as before. "You better not let Elphias Doge hear you say that. He thought the sun shone out of Albus's every orifice."

"Weird name, weird folk," she mused, after she'd recovered from laughing till her stomach ached, eyes scanning the room for the aforementioned wizard.

"Only say that when you have a relatively normal and acceptable name," warned Abeforth. "Or you'll come off as a hypocrite."

"I'm Ankaa," she introduced herself. "And I already know your name so don't bother." Before Abeforth could speak, someone tapped Ankaa's shoulder, prompting her to turn around.

"Doggy?" she asked.

Abeforth snorted.

Elphias Doge made a face at the man but recollected himself when he remembered a child was watching. "It's Elphias Doge. Albus told me about you." His face clouded with sympathy. "Living with Moody is never easy."

Ankaa pursed her lips. "I like him a lot. He's funny in his paranoia."

"Smart kid," said Elphias, grinning as he slid into the seat next to her. Ankaa turned and saw that Albus was on the receiving end of presents. Must be nice to have so many friends. She wondered if they ever sent him anything other than books: the sizes of those wrapped gifts seem to carry books. "Know a lot big words, don't you? Bet it's Albus's influence."

Ankaa glanced at Abeforth to see how he was taking this tidbit. His lips had thinned and he shuffled away, not wishing to hear this. Truthfully, she felt uncomfortable as well. She didn't like hearing about Albus' accomplishments. She felt like such an underachiever whose life was wasted with every great thing Albus had done.

OK, she was jealous but it was normal. Everyone wants to be great. Preferably looking awesomely youthful, gorgeous and not a second away from popping the clogs (Albus was really very old, OK? If he was such a great wizard, why hadn't he founded a way to look young?).

"Oh, really?" she said just because Elphias looked at her as if he wanted her to speak. So she did. Then she remembered what he said. "What're you talking about? I read books to gain my knowledge! I didn't stick around Albus the whole day and hope some of his greatness rubbed off on me like some of _you_ do!" Ankaa's voice had colored with spite before she could stop herself.

Elphias opened his mouth but she ploughed right through him, feeling quite angry. Her knowledge, the "big words" she knew came from intensive reading she did. It was definitely not Albus' influence nor was it due to her wish to emulate him as Elphias Doge had obviously thought. It had been to make her mother, the one in the other world, proud; Ankaa _loved_ it when her mother praised her. Albus' influence? Hah! He'd have to wait a hundred years for her to start acting like him. Albus didn't even _like_ reading!

"Admiration is the furthest thing from understanding. By placing someone on a pedestal, you run the risk of alienating him—which you already did. I feel sorry for Albus."

Elphias was gaping at Ankaa, open-mouthed, so she decided to move away. For the rest of the party, she loitered around in corners. Once she was certain Elphias was gone from the bar, Ankaa returned to where Abeforth was serving drinks and pulled out a book to read.

Abeforth squinted at the title of the book. "I was sure Dedalus Diggle gave that to Albus." He said his brother's name like it was a dangerous explosive.

"Oh, well, he gave it to me."

Nothing more was said.

**:: :: ::**

"Did you enjoy the party?" asked Moody the moment he saw her.

Ankaa took a few cautious steps into the kitchen. She'd learned the hard way to walk silently, stealthily. She frowned, rubbing her eyes. "No. There were no kids. I ended up playing with Abeforth's goats." She paused, looking thoughtful. "If you can call it that: I pissed one of them off and they chased me all around until Albus made them stop."

Moody snorted. "Anyhow, I'll be going to the Ministry. And I ain't leaving you alone here. You're coming with me."

"What business do you have in the Ministry?" asked Ankaa, curious. Moody had been forced to retire after one last mission.

"I've been told to tutor some Aurors. What do you think?" Moody looked at her and through the gruesome scars that ruined what, otherwise could've been a pleasant face, Ankaa swore he was smiling. "You can join those trainees."

Oh, dear. She didn't like that smile.

**:: :: ::**

* * *

><p><strong>[AN]:** I've started a PJO SI fic. Go check it out and remember to review!

After the next chapter, we'll be moving onto Hogwarts.

**Question:** Would Ankaa make a nice friend? What is your impression of her after this chapter?

**Review!**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

* * *

><p><strong>The Caliginous Future<strong>

**Chapter 4**

by GaleSynch

* * *

><p>The best thing about watching Moody teach Aurors-in-training? She could watch as they were heavily berated and yelled at by Moody. The Auror-hopefuls were exactly that—hopeless hopefuls. They weren't particularly talented or quick-witted and they seemed intimidated by Moody. One girl looked ready to cry. Ankaa was betting her right arm that she'd fail.<p>

Ankaa didn't take part in every activity; she partook in Infiltration and Reconnaissance which involved a lot of sneaking around in dark places and she giggled madly as she took a potshot at every trainee there.

A lot of the hopefuls had been very apprehensive when Moody handed her a wand and told her to "go play". The spells Ankaa used were not very destructive. Besides, the wand simply did not suit her needs. It was not compatible with her and she felt extremely frustrated when a Tickling Charm went wayward: it only made her intended target wheeze.

"Did you have fun?" asked a kindly female Ministry officer, offering Ankaa a cool glass of pumpkin juice that eased some of the ire she felt. "You're sweating all over. Have a tissue?"

"You're a Muggle-born," Ankaa stated before she could think things through.

The officer looked surprised. "How do you know?" she asked.

"For the first eleven years of your life, you're probably used to needing tissue to wipe your sweat." Ankaa shifted in her seat. "You have a wand, don't you? Aren't you going to use it to Banish the sweat on me?"

The Mudblood blushed and waved her hand. Instantly, the stink of sweat disappeared and Ankaa's skin was no longer sticky. "Thank you," she said graciously.

Ankaa noticed, however, that it was the last time the Mudblood worker ever gave her free pumpkin juice.

**. . .**

Summer was not even over and Ankaa had reread the books she'd bought for the second-time already. She grew bored rather quickly after testing to see if she could speed up the pace of her reading—it was physically, humanely impossible. Ankaa had nothing to do other than dodge Moody's spells that he sprang on her intermittently.

Moody was off to set traps surrounding the house. He ensured that Ankaa would be behaving properly (read: do not attempt to reduce the house to rubble) with the promise of a more interesting and challenging training regime. He would set traps around the house, let her walk into it and she must use whatever brainpower she'd been blessed to escape.

"If you're born an idiot, then smarten up, girl!" Moody had barked when Ankaa asked how she'd get out if she couldn't figure anything out. Not a very reassuring answer, she knew but she awaited the time he would be done setting up the site.

In the mean time... "I wonder how's Harry doing." Then, very conveniently, Fawkes appeared, as if he'd read her mind. She gave the phoenix a funny look. "Are you a Legilimens?"

She swore he rolled his eyes in response: could birds do that?

**. . .**

Ankaa's first letter did not reach Harry: this, she assumed, had something to do with the Dursley's interference. So she smartened up—as Moody had told her to—and included a letter to Dudley, specifically ordering him to ensure Harry's letter reached its recipient.

It wasn't very hard to get him to do whatever she wanted despite the distance. Ankaa had been clued in that Dudley had a crush on her. When she learned that, she wasn't sure she should gag or laugh. If you were wondering, it wasn't because of her Legilimency skills (she was still working on that, meditating and all that jazz) but rather, she'd overheard Dudley and his gang talking.

Better than gagging or laughing—she could use it to her advantage! Which she did.

True to her prediction, Dudley had been too preoccupied with his own letter to properly antagonize Harry and he eased his treatment on Harry (I hope).

Dudley and I weren't friends like Harry and I were, but I still repaired his broken toys anyway.

_As long as you let Harry play with them once in awhile, _the letter entailed.

**. . .**

What were three years in the grand scheme of things?

It was inconsequential to Ankaa who had lived once. She turned nine, ten and eleven without much fuss. Harry and Dudley couldn't celebrate her birthday party and she had no substantial friends. Ankaa was very quiet in class, she caused little trouble, paid little attention and skipped often.

Going to Muggle school eventually became a game of hide-and-seek. A place to test her creativity as she lied and lied and tricked her way out of classes. She tested her acting skills, noted the wrong, trained to erase the nervousness on her expression when she lied, and perfected what was flawed.

Ankaa didn't think there was any room left for improvement in her bullshitting skills, but Albus always managed to see through her.

Ankaa attributed this to Legilimency and his century of living, watching first his siblings as they tried to lie their way out of breaking his toys and tearing his books, then when he became a professor and then headmaster to confront students that gave multiple reasons about why they didn't finish their homework or when they got into trouble.

"Are you sure I can't go to Durmstrang?" Ankaa asked Moody for the third time that day.

"No," snapped Moody.

"But that Death Eater Igor Karakoff is there!" she reasoned, not for the first time that hour.

"That is the Aurors' job, young lady," Moody retorted gruffly, blue eye examining her critically before spinning away to look somewhere behind him. Paranoid as ever she saw, these past few years they'd been together and he hadn't changed one bit. "Not something for you to worry about."

Ankaa grinned slyly. "Jeez, if I didn't know any better, I'd've thought you were worried about me."

Moody scowled—his default expression. "Pull on your coat, Ankaa, we're going to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies."

"Hey, Moody?" A grunt. "What's the date of birth written on my birth certificate?"

"April 30th," he mumbled under his breath and the eleven-year-old's grin bloomed into something larger that threatened to split her face and warm her heart until it melted. He hadn't forgotten the day they'd met after all.

**. . .**

Ankaa had never wondered much about the true origins of her new body. To her, Ankaa's body had always been her host... so through the years, it'd cemented into her brain so deeply she'd no longer questioned it: who was Ankaa if not Anna? Of course, living in that body and getting used to things had not made her forget her previous life.

There were startling facts that had embedded deep into her from years of reciting it repeatedly in her sleep to ensure she forgot nothing in the books that might be essential to her survival. Some important detail such as Harry's wand sharing the same core as Lord Voldemort's wand.

11", holly wand wood, phoenix feather core.

It was in her hands. The wand chose her.

Mystified, Ankaa raised her red-grey gaze to meet Ollivander's silver gaze. "No, this must be a mistake," murmured Ollivander, wrinkled fingers reaching out to pry the wand from her hands.

She tightened it unconsciously. "Wha... why would it be a mistake?" Harry would definitely need it to survive and as selfish as it may be, Ankaa wanted the wand. It was powerful and if Voldemort ever aimed any spells at her, this wand would protect her. "It chose me! It's mine!"

"Ankaa, let it go," said Moody quietly. His eyes were critical.

"It chose me," Ankaa repeated but she relented beneath Ollivander's prodding and Moody's glare.

"We'd consult Dumbledore," Moody consoled.

Ankaa crossed her arms and without further ado, sulked. She glared murderously at both men. "I want that one. No other wands would accept me." She watched as Ollivander placed the wand gingerly back into box. Was this just to tempt her? If it was meant for Harry from the very beginning, why did he bring it out in the first place?

"Let's go," said Moody.

"Without a wand for me?" Ankaa's words came out through a harsh snarl, a raspy, high quality to it due to her anger.

"I told you," Moody sounded a tad impatient, "we will talk to Albus about this. He would know what to do."

Ankaa tossed Ollivander an unsatisfied glare, met his calculating, contemplating gaze, before she gave in under the pressure of Moody's hand and exited the wand shop, noticeably wandless.

**. . .**

"That wand chose me," were the first words out of Ankaa's mouth the moment Albus materialized in a column of Fawkes' fire, "and I want it back—as it's mine."

"I've received a Floo call from Ollivander, and I must say, I had not expected it," confessed Albus. His smile was as kind as ever and his blue eyes twinkled brightly behind those half-moon glasses. "Firstly, I would like you to know that this complication is not Ollivander's fault."

"He could've just given the wand to me," Ankaa shot back, before she realized how oddly phrased that sentence was. She arched a brow, arms still crossed tightly across her chest. "And who blames him anyway?"

"Ollivander told me that he had been experiencing chest pains."

Ankaa blinked. "Then he should check in with St. Mungo's. He's not young anymore, is he?"

"Alastor, did you find anything out there?"

Ankaa turned to the open doorway where Moody had left. The moment Albus arrived, he had not answered Ankaa immediately, rather, he'd requested Moody to trump outside and search for something out of the ordinary. She didn't know what they expected to find so she was quite stumped when Moody reentered the house, something held in his hand.

"Mind explaining what this is?" Moody growled.

"Whoa," she said. "_That_ worked?" Voodoo cursing had been common in Muggle fables and she'd found a book about it. She thought it was pretty funny so she'd brushed it off and hadn't bothered trying it out until fifteen minutes ago where she'd been so pissed at Ollivander that she was ready to try anything.

Using voodoo dolls to curse people wasn't very effective. It was different from the Cruciatus Curse though it was meant to cause pain and misery. The effects were usually long-lasting—when cast by a very experienced user and cast through a very effective medium.

Ankaa had used a freaking garden gnome. Either this was a sign of Ankaa's awesomeness or Ollivander was extremely susceptible to this curse—the book had mentioned that everyone reacted differently, hence another reason this method was not very useful against your sworn enemies.

Ankaa wondered just how many people had tried this method against Voldemort.

"I told you not to mess with Dark Magic!" spat Moody.

"Hey, it's not Dark Magic!" Ankaa leapt to her own defense instantly. "Even the Muggles practice it! I was just having fun!"

"You know these had long-lasting effects that could be potentially hazardous to the target," Albus found it paramount to add, like Ankaa had not went through the whole book twice and found it intrinsically useless.

"I didn't think it would work," Ankaa said, spreading her hands to display the amount of exasperation she felt at their serious gazes. "I just needed to vent and since I know Moody would hold me back from beating the crap out of the old man, I resorted to this. It'll probably wear off if you take out the nails and wipe the name off the tiny gnome."

Moody thrust the gnome at her, brow arched. "Ankaa."

"Fine," she chuntered, barely containing the snarl she wanted to let through. She snatched the gnome non-too-gently from Moody's loose grip, inciting a squeal of pain from the rankling creature. She stomped to the kitchen, inhaled and exhaled. She could've cleaned it using magic but when her temper ran high, her control over magi was poor.

So she resorted to the Muggle way. She plucked the nails out, quite puzzled about that. She'd been stabbing the thing with a toothpick, nothing harmful; she hadn't even realized she'd Transfigured it through accidental magic. Regardless, she scrubbed the name written with ink, rinsed it, and tossed it out of the window before washing her hands for so long Fawkes had to come in and get her.

"Hey, those things are filthy creatures. There're going to be germs there—_ew!_—and I don't want to get infected with anything."

"You'd only get infected if you have a cut to allow those germs into your bloodstream," Moody grunted.

Ankaa shrugged. "Okay. Let's get straight to business: why is my owning that particular wand such a big deal?"

Albus and Moody exchanged looks that told Ankaa they'd discussed this in hushed tones while she was having a stint in the kitchen.

"Just tell her," Moody finally said, breaking the silence.

"Very well." Albus steepled his fingers, peering at her with those blue eyes that made Ankaa wonder who'd live longer. He had eyes that seemed to be able to read one's obituary and she knew it wouldn't be his first time reading a student's obituary: that was how many kids died in the last war. "The core of the wand came from Fawkes."

"So?"

"Voldemort's wand core also came from Fawkes. Hence, those two wands are brothers. Harry would need it in the far future."

"Harry as in Harry Potter. As in Harry who was bullied in school and kicked around like a football by his cousin. Harry who defeated the Dark Lord." Ankaa hadn't meant to sound so spiteful and sarcastic but she wasn't very good at controlling herself when she'd been severely disappointed.

"You do not believe he vanquished Voldemort?" asked Moody, brow arched.

"He's a baby," Ankaa said dismissively, "something else happened and he was too young to remember it. But that's besides the point—"

"Brother wands will be unable to duel one another properly. Pitting those duellists together would incite Priori Incantatem—essentially, it negates deadly spells."

"That would be, like, you're protecting the Dark Lord," grumbled Ankaa, letting her fingers dance on the surface of the wooden table. "Which is stupid. Harry's going to have to kill him someday." There was a pause where neither man answered so she replied herself. "Oh, wait, I get it. There's no way Harry can beat him so he needs the wand core to protect him. Awesome." Technically, she was badmouthing Harry but she was so angry—_what're you angry at anyway?_—that she didn't care how terrible of a friend she was being.

"Ankaa, don't sulk, it's unbecoming of you." Ankaa scowled at Moody for that. "If it cheers you up, Fawkes was willing to donate another feather."

That lifted Ankaa's spirits. "Really?" she asked, eyes lighting up. She did not notice how the red in her irises glowed faintly in tune with her jubilation. "It won't affect anything, will it?"

Albus' eyes locked with hers. "No, it will not."

Something inside her sank, heavy and her mouth tasted of ashes and sour lemon. She ignored it. A few days later, her wand arrived, delivered personally by Fawkes.

The wand sang and relished her touch: she loved it, too, from the moment she saw the 12", phoenix feather core, spruce-wood wand.

"Thank you," she told the phoenix sincerely, stroking its beautiful plumage and wondered why the cold rock in her gut sank even further.

**. . .**

"What's wrong with you? You're pale," Moody's hand clapped onto her forehead, "and your skin's clammy and cold. What's wrong?" It showed how concerned he was when he repeated his question twice. She could heard the urgency in his voice.

"Garlic," Ankaa groaned, unable to understand why she spewed such rubbish. She hated garlic—and every sort of vegetable in existence. Moody had no particular love for garlic either. She rubbed her face, tired beyond belief. And irritated that she was falling sick when she was to go to Hogwarts in a few days.

She wanted to see Harry—especially the expression on his face when he realized she was a witch, too. She wondered if he'd made the connection yet, she hadn't exactly been subtle with magic back in school. Kids leaped past the obvious conclusion as mundane adults did.

"What garlic? We hadn't eaten garlic in years after you retched it right back." See? Even Moody was baffled.

She sniffed. "I just need a nap, then I'll be fine."

Moody stumped away. "Scream if you need help."

Ankaa grinned. It was very hard to get Moody to show affection or even a shred of kindness and proof that he really cared. Ankaa had devised a plan to see whether he care about her not: it had consisted of wrecking the whole place to look like an attack had been carried out before she played dead.

Moody had been pissed when he knew she'd bluffed him but he really should check the calendar and expected this: it had been April Fool's day.

Still, the result was very satisfying even though he punished her by making her clean with no magic.

Closing the thick book resting on top of her chest, she shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch and fell asleep immediately.

She dreamed of Hogwarts and only after she'd seen the castle in person, she'd wonder how she'd envisioned that place so accurately.

**. . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

* * *

><p><strong>. . .<strong>

**The Caliginous Future  
><strong>by GaleSynch

**Chapter 5**

* * *

><p>"I'd come back every holiday," Ankaa promised. She'd woken up entirely excited to be going to Hogwarts and finally, legally learning magic. She couldn't wait to get there but when she looked back, about to enter the Floo network that connected directly to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she, for the first time, realized how lonely this cottage could be.<p>

It'd always been home to her. It was not her first home and not the home she wanted to go back to, but it was still home and she definitely want to come back once in awhile.

Home did not equate loneliness; that negative, hollowing emotion had no place in a place as warm as home. But there it was, she felt it.

The cottage wasn't large but it was surrounded by trees and the only human settlement was very far away. Ankaa shuddered to imagine what Moody would do. The image of Moody sitting there, alone, doing nothing—since he was already retired—made her feel a bone-deep loneliness.

Ankaa wondered if she could get away with hugging him.

At the last second, she desisted, offering an awkward wave and a familiar grin before stepping into the green flames.

**. . .**

Ankaa had to jostle her way around parents and teary first-years—that sight made her roll her eyes. Babies, she thought snidely as she dragged her trunk after her. For the first time, Ankaa realized just how tiny her body was. She was pushed around, and what was worse, she'd lost her trunk.

"Move it, you ruddy—!" Her cussing was cut-off as a burly man ran into her. He peeled her off him, cursing "Mudbloods" and tossed her off him.

Ankaa swore loudly, picking herself up and rubbing her ribs, a tight grimace on her lips. She wore Muggle clothes—t-shirt and capris and sneakers—because they were comfortable. Those wizards should see how ridiculous they looked: or maybe she was bias. She bet those Mudbloods thought the same, suffered from the same bias.

Ankaa crossed her arms, gritted her teeth and tried to spot her chance. She didn't know how long she seethed there before she lost it. "Please move," she spat with the politeness of a vulture about to feed on its victim—which was none because vultures didn't even say, _Itadakimasu!_ before feasting.

Her obstacle was a man. She looked up, about to repeat her request when she noticed his platinum blonde hair and silver eyes; he sneered at her, "Mudblood filth. Don't touch me."

The red-hot anger she felt was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She'd been sulky and angry before, especially with the wand incident, but this was blowing the ordinary proportions. Before she could properly register it, she'd kicked him. She watched with no little amount of satisfaction as he curled into himself, howling, and blew a raspberry in his direction. She was aware that parents and guardians had turned to stare when the man shouted loud enough to drown out the train's whistling. She jumped across him, looking around for her trunk, failed to see it and seized the wand she saw sticking out of a woman's pocket.

"Lend it to me for a sec," Ankaa said, "_Accio_ Ankaa's trunk!" She saw her slightly scratched-up trunk knocking a couple of people out of the way before landing in front of her. Her wand had been in the trunk so she'd had to borrow form someone else—she vowed to never make the same mistakes. "Thank you," she told the grey-eyed woman graciously.

Then she sprinted for the train.

Much to her ire, she saw someone blocking the only entrance that had yet to be closed. Through the billow of steam released from the front, signalling the train about to leave. "Move!" cried Ankaa.

"Can't!" the pink-haired teenager retorted, face flushed from the effort. "It's stuck!"

Ankaa left her trunk and reached out to help. The trunk gave an almighty screech before it detached from the space between concrete and steel. However, their combined force was too much to withstand and the momentum threw them back. The train started moving.

Ankaa scrambled to her feet, seized her trunk and started running. She knew, however, that neither girl would be able to keep up even as the platform kept extending to allow them to run. "Jump!" ordered Ankaa.

"Wha...?"

"I'll toss the trunk up to you," promised Ankaa.

That was enough incentive for the teen and the girl threw herself onto the metal steps of the train. It was speeding up and the girl had a rough landing. Ankaa was now weighed down by two trunks but Moody's physical training ("We duel with wands! Not wrestling like barbaric Muggles!" "What if you had to grapple for a wand, girl?!") allowed her to keep up. She had to keep the girl there though.

Ankaa tossed her own trunk through first; the pink-haired teen's trunk was in her hands and it was significantly heavier than Ankaa's own. Her trunk in Ankaa's hands ought to be enough of a reason for the older girl to stick around to help Ankaa on board.

"This isn't mine!" came the sharp cry of alarm from within.

"Of course not," huffed Ankaa between breaths. Speed was her forte, not _stamina_. She hated to ask for help, but the teen didn't seem bright enough to notice Ankaa's problem. Just her luck, she was surrounded by idiots. "Hey, lend a hand!"

"Oh, right!" A long hand thrust through the smoke and Ankaa threw the trunk through the smoke, aiming at where she thought the opening was. A shout of alarm, the fingers slackened but the arm remained extended. "That hurts!"

"I can't see!" Ankaa yelled back. She threw herself forward, seized the hand, gripped it tight and launched herself into air. Ankaa body-slammed the older teen onto the metal steps and they groaned in pain: neither had enough breath to ask through the haze of pain who was hurting more.

Ankaa dimly registered the doors closing, safely barricading the two girls in the Hogwarts Express. Eventually, Ankaa realized this position they were in was hardly appropriate and rolled off the teenager. Ankaa picked herself up and tried to look dignified. "You okay?" She felt obligated to ask.

The older girl groaned but nodded; she stretched and Ankaa heard a few bones popping into place. "Ouch." She turned to face Ankaa properly this time. "Whoa... crazy eyes, kiddo."

Ankaa smirked. "Crazy hair, lady."

"The name's Nymphadora Tonks. But just call be by my last name."

Ankaa's eyes lit up at the sight of a canon character she'd been rather fond of. She thought it was grossly unfair that this awesome girl had married a poor-as-shit werewolf and died in the end—killed by her own aunt, a serious downer, Ankaa seriously wondered how Andromeda Tonks had took the news. "I'm Ankaa."

For the sake of her own safety, Moody had stopped her from using his last name because Moody had a lot of enemies. Ankaa didn't want to be publicly, in any way, be known to have any connection to the Albus Dumbledore—too much trouble and Ankaa hated hassles, it was different when she was blending in with the Muggles.

"Thanks for the help," said Ankaa as casually as possible, offering the older girl a polite smile.

"Back at'cha, Ankaa. No last name?"

"Orphan," Ankaa supplied, not dishonestly.

"Oh, sorry."

Ankaa waved it away. "Don't worry, I'm used to it." She stood, picked up her trunk, dusted it before she went down the aisle in search for a relatively empty compartment.

"Hey, Ankaa!" She turned at the call of her name. "If you can't find any first-years to sit with, come find me!" Tonks gestured to her pink hair. "I'm easy to spot, really. I'd show ya the ropes if ya want to." Then, waving and grinning, she walked down the opposing aisle.

Ankaa was looking for Harry. She kept her eyes out for a boy with messy hair and green eyes behind full-moon specs. She saw the red hair and freckled face first.

She threw the compartment door open. "Harry!" she cried dramatically—for Ankaa would not not be Ankaa if she didn't have her flair for dramatics.

It was utterly comical to see Harry's green eyes widened till they were larger than his glasses. A delighted laugh bubbled out of Harry's throat. "Ankaa!" Harry said, elation etched into his face. Before she registered it, he'd hugged her, squeezing her around the ribs so tightly she thought her ribcage would crumble. "Aack!"

"What?" Ankaa asked, surprised by how quickly he pulled back. Had she unintentionally used accidental magic to shield herself? She didn't think so and anyway, he was rubbing his scar.

"Is something wrong?" asked the redhead from across them.

"Nah, it's nothing." Harry brushed the brief pain off quickly. "Ankaa, oh my gosh, I can't believe you're here!" He was grinning widely. "I should've known you were a witch—all those toys you repaired—that was magic?!"

Ankaa rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Well, duh, Harrison."

"Harry," he corrected, his grin seemed permanently plastered to his face. "That's not even my name."

"Harrison sounds more complete and sophisticated," Ankaa commented, dumping her trunk above her and plopping down next to Harry. "I'm Ankaa," she added belatedly for the redhead's benefit.

He nodded. "I'm Ron Weasley. Nice to meet... you..." He'd caught sight of her eyes. "Nice eyes," he complimented.

Ankaa smiled. "Thanks. I love them myself." Then she completely ignored the redhead and concentrated on Harry instead.

**. . .**

"I like Dart Arts and Dark Magic, they're cool," Ankaa told Harry, curled up comfortably in her seat, having discarded her shoes at the base of the seats.

"Isn't the reason they're classified Dark Arts because they're bad?" Harry asked, brows furrowed.

Ankaa scoffed. "Seriously, you need to branch out. Moody lets me get away with it."

"Moody?" interrupted Ron. "Like that famous ex-Auror, Moody?"

"Yep. He's my... dad. If he says it's alright, why not?" Ankaa shrugged.

"You're a half-blood, then? You said you were an orphan," Ron shot back.

"I didn't know you cared about blood status, Weasley," Ankaa was quick to retort, touchy about the subject of blood-purity. Personally, she felt that half-blood status was a decent status: she knew about both worlds and was not too above or too high up. Besides, the half-bloods seemed to be the strongest sorcerers: take Voldemort and Dumbledore for example. Feeling the need to change subjects, she said, "This looks cool, doesn't it?"

"That's the Cruciatus Curse," announced Ron flatly, eyes narrowed at the picture she was pointing to.

"Thanks Captain Obvious," Ankaa scoffed. "This is a torture curse. Very dark, very bad in the Ministry's eyes. It will make you feel excruciating pain—"

"What's excruciating?" asked Ron. Ankaa wanted to chuck him out the window, but she felt like lording over them that she knew something they didn't. She waited at least three seconds—she saw Harry roll his eyes—before she spoke.

"It means extreme," snapped Ankaa. "Now shut up, Weasley. What do you think, Harrison?"

Harry was frowning even deeper now. "Why are you showing me this?" he asked.

"I thought you might want to learn it. I mean, to get back at your parents' murderer." Harry's shoulders jerked. "They were killed by Lord Voldemort, weren't they?"

Ron squeaked. "You said his name!" Even his freckles had whitened in terror. Ankaa relished it.

"Yeah," said Harry darkly, "and everyone knows that except me, up until my birthday, I didn't know they were murdered. I thought they died in a car crash."

Ankaa cast Harry her best sympathetic glance. "Relatives still as bad as ever, huh?" Harry nodded mournfully. "Well, you can always come and stay with me and Moody! He's eccentric and might attack you at times; folks even say he's nuts!" Ankaa chirped happily. "But he was the greatest Auror when he was in his prime and even now."

Harry's green eyes lit up. "I really can stay there for break?"

"Christmas break, too, if you want," Ankaa said, shrugging. She didn't want to show how eager she was to finally have a kid her age around in the house to bounce ideas of and partake in pranks and (not extreme) illegal activities with her. "You have to come!"

"Do you even have to ask? Of course!"

"So," said Ankaa, tearing the conversation into a new direction, "which House do you want to go to?"

"I'm not sure."

"Gryffindor is so cliche," sighed Ankaa, closing her book. She had slight motion sickness and reading in a vehicle was a first-class ticket to the bathroom for the rest of the trip and she really didn't want to spend her trip to Hogwarts this way.

"It's the best House there is!" cried Ron passionately, not seeming to realize Ankaa was purposefully rebuffing him and trying to seal him out of the conversation between two long-lost but recently-united friends.

"Not really. Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry is quite similar to your aunt and uncles' attitude towards you, Hare, right?"

Harry blinked. "How... so?"

"Well, the Dursleys are horrid to you because you're a wizard. That's like a Gryffindor cursing a Slytherin for being a Slytherin. You can't help your nature and people are lauding blame onto you. I think it's best to be in a neutral House, that way, you'd be able to make more friends," mused Ankaa, tapping her cheek. "Moody was in Hufflepuff, y'know?"

She saw the look on Ron's face and burst out laughing. "I know! How can someone as gruff and fierce as Moody be in Hufflepuff? But that the House of Badgers are for leftovers or those hardworking and loyal kids." Ron snorted in agreement.

Before he could comment however, the compartment door opened and a girl poked her head in. Ankaa raised her head to see who it was: the other girl had bushy brown hair, rather large front teeth as they peeked out from her upper lips, and healthy tan skin. "Have anyone seen Neville's toad?"

"No," answered Harry. "We've just told him that we haven't seen a toad."

"Try a summoning charm," suggested Ankaa lazily.

"I knew there was a charm for it!" said the bushy-haired Mudblood. "But I can't find it in the textbooks!"

"What's the name of the toad?" asked Ankaa, quite eager to show off. "I can summon it."

"Oh, you're going to do magic?" The girl sounded very superior all of a sudden. She flopped onto the seat next to Ron who shifted away subtly. "Well, let's see it then. And the toad's name is Trevor."

"_Accio_ Trevor!" There was a pause then a loud _zip! _alerted them of something zooming top-speed towards the quartet; the toad smacked right into the window of their compartment. "Oops."

"Wandless magic?" breathed the girl. "That's wonderful! I wish I can do that successfully—"

"Don't worry, I've been doing magic since I was five. It makes all the difference in the world—whoa, Harry, you're deathly pale, what's wrong?" Ankaa cut herself off when she saw how white her friend had turned. His face was positively pasty.

"It makes a difference?" Harry asked. "I've never done proper magic before. I'm just worried about being left behind in class."

Ankaa waved it off. "Nah, Mudbloods didn't receive magical education prior to Hogwarts either. You'll catch up soon enough."

Ron gasped in outrage, looking ready to shout at Ankaa but the Mudblood present cut across whatever he was trying to say—ironically. "Harry?" she echoed. "As in Harry Potter?"

"Uh, yes," said Harry, nervously flattening his fringe so that his scar would be covered. "What's your name?"

"Are you really?" Hermione asked, eyeing Harry with newfound interest. Ankaa wondered how long it'd take before Hermione started prodding Harry with sticks to see his reaction. "I've read all about in books. You're mentioned in so many books. I'm Hermione Granger. Who're you two by the way?" The question was directed at Ankaa and Ron; the latter was staring at the girl beside him with parted lips: Hermione had talked at a speed previously unknown to humans.

"Ankaa," she managed through her amusement and sudden urge to laugh.

"Ron Weasley."

"I'm in books...?" Harry sounded dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy—that Ankaa had just only noticed—with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron.

"That's mean," commented Ankaa. She turned to Harry. "Which House do you think you'll go into?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But not Slytherin I think... Hagrid told me that every witch and wizard went bad in there."

"I think you phrased it wrongly," corrected Ankaa with a winning smile, "It's supposed to be, every witch and wizard who went bad were in there."

Ron snorted. "Same difference to me."

Ankaa arched a brow. "If it's the same difference, how could it be considered different in the first place? Perhaps there's no difference in the first place, which makes us wonder why you'd say same difference when it's actually just different—" Ron looked faintly ill; Harry, dizzied. Ankaa broke off with a laugh: she was also losing track of the difference thing.

Harry shook his head, amused smile on his lips. "Which House are your brothers in, Ron?" he asked.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol— I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses, asked him what his brothers did after they'd graduated. Ankaa tuned them out, but after some time, she asked to switch seats with Harry who had the window-seat.

**. . .**

Everything went mostly to canon. Draco Malfoy and his goons showed up, talked, made enemies of Ron and Harry—Ankaa ignored all of them, having fallen asleep as the pounding in her head grew worse. She thought she'd recovered from the flu yesterday. She certainly felt fine but the feeling of illness crept up onto her.

Harry asked her if she was okay. "Of course I'm _not_ okay, do I look okay to you? If I ever ask someone that sort of question when they're obviously not okay, I want you to kick me, okay!"

"...Okay," said Harry dubiously.

"Enough with the okays!" yelled Ron.

Harry and Ankaa laughed. Ankaa smoothed her robes (she'd kicked the boys out when she wanted to change) and stood, following Harry and Ron, giving whoever jostled her the evil-eye for hitting her. Ankaa was big on personal space; why were these kids so eager to go to Hogwarts anyway? They weren't first-years and the feast wouldn't start until the Sorting was over.

Ankaa tugged Harry into a boat, away from where Ron had joined Neville and Hermione. Their boat was among the last to leave, as two other boys stumbled awkwardly into it. "Hello," said the dark-haired boy. "I'm Terry Boot. Who're you, might I ask?"

"Ankaa."

"Harry Potter."

The tanned boy looked up. Ankaa noticed that he was very good-looking for an eleven-year-old and would probably grow up into a lady killer—maybe not literally. "Zabini," he said, holding out a hand for Harry to shake, "Blaise Zabini."

"Zabini," repeated Terry Boot. "Hey, isn't your mom the witch who married nine husbands and all died mysteriously? Was your dad one of them?"

Blaise Zabini's face didn't even twitched. "Yes, to both questions." Ankaa let out a low whistle, impressed. Man, she wanted to meet his mother: how did that witch kill all her husbands without arousing suspicions or shrugging off investigations? There was no way it was a tragic coincidence.

But before she could speak, the Zabini spoke to Harry.

Ankaa gritted her teeth in annoyance as Zabini and Boot asked Harry questions, not paying her any attention. Ankaa turned her gaze to Hogwarts, wondering why this feeling of frustration was so familiar. Before coming here and meeting kids her age, Moody had always treated her as an equal, a formidable opponent at least: he'd known that she could cause damage despite her young age and placed the same precautions against her as he would to full-grown, Dark wizards (or that might be his paranoia speaking against her even after all these years together).

When they had one of their "war simulation training", Ankaa had a spare wand that Moody gave lent her. Sure, they shot white sparks at one another, but it was mostly to see who was faster, had better reflexes and who could aim better. As powerful as the spell was, missing its intended target didn't do much good. He never held back.

Ankaa _was_ jealous of the attention Harry was receiving—and she wasn't ashamed to admit it—and the one thing leashing her anger back was that Harry was her friend and she knew full-well how uncomfortable it was for him. In her past life, she'd experienced the same thing: shunted to one side while her smarter, prettier, more charming best friend got the attention, the kid everyone wanted to say hello to. The best Ankaa could do was look scary and was whispered as the scariest kid around.

Someday, Ankaa promised herself, she'd be a sorcerer everyone would know the name of. They'd whisper it in awe and fear and reverence—the same way Lord Voldemort's name was spoken.

**. . .**

Ankaa was still steaming even as McGonagall introduced them to the Houses and left to prepare the Sorting Hat. Why the old hag didn't do it while they had yet to arrive was beyond Ankaa—did they like making them wait?

"Look, Ankaa!" said Harry excitedly, tugging on her arm. "Ghosts!"

On cue, the Fat Friar cried, "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff—my old House, that one."

"Harry," said Ankaa.

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you do, don't get Sorted into Slytherin."

Harry looked surprised. "I thought you're unbiased," he muttered.

Ankaa chuckled. "I'm not bias. But you're the Boy-Who-Lived." She slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer so that there was a lesser chance their conversation would be overheard. "Voldemort's not dead yet. He'll come back one day and when that day comes, you'll have to face him with friends that will never let you down and fight with you to their last breaths." Ankaa didn't know if this was too much for Harry to handle or not but Ankaa wholeheartedly agreed with Moody when he said it was best not to shelter children from anything. "Any House but Slytherin is your best bet. You shouldn't make enemies either, so Gryffindor isn't advisable since you'll be automatic enemies with Slytherins when friends in there could prove beneficial."

Harry stared at her for so long and quietly that Ankaa had to wriggle her fingers in front of his face to get his attention: she wondered if that information overload had broken his brain in irreparable ways. "...You know a lot."

"Hey, I lived with the most paranoid but greatest wizard"—she was stretching it but whatever, Moody was _that_ great to her—"of all times. He was the one who told me this. He wants me to watch out for you, also." Moody had not gone out and say it point blank but it was heavily implied.

And Ankaa was very good at reading in between the lines. Call her paranoid, but she could do it: dissecting words and upturning them for hidden pearls in half a second before responding accordingly.

"Wish me luck, then," said Harry, smiling.

She squeezed his arm reassuringly as McGonagall came back and announced that Hogwarts was ready to receive them.

Inexplicably, Ankaa thought the feeling of stepping into Hogwarts for the first time was what she imagined to be the sensation of returning home.

**. . .**

* * *

><p><strong>-0-<strong>

**Question: **I know no one actually stops for a chat with him but Voldemort is actually very talkative, isn't he? When he was resurrected at the end of book 4 ...

**Review!**

**. . .**


	7. Chapter 7

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

**The Caliginous Future  
><strong>by GaleSynch

**VI**

**.**

"That," announced Ankaa flatly, "was the worst song I'd ever heard."

"Don't be mean," chided Harry, stepping on tiptoes to see the battered Hat properly. "It's a Hat, it hasn't got much creativity."

"Yet it can look into the minds of students," Ankaa retorted drily, wondering if her six years worth of practicing Occlumency and Legilimency alone would be of help. "And decide which House they ought to be in."

"It's smart... I guess," muttered Harry. "How does it do that? Is is sentiment?"

"Sentient, Harrison," Ankaa said mockingly as "Abbot, Hannah" was called up first. Ankaa huffed. "Oh, I hate this, I bet I'm going to be—"

"Ankaa!" called McGonagall, glancing up from the scroll to look for the one being called. Ankaa saw Albus leaning forward slightly—it made her smile.

"—next," she finished under her breath, pushing someone out of the way and sauntering up to the Transfiguration Professor. Their eyes met and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a young girl in McGonagall's eyes—she was puzzled at first, it could've _been_ Ankaa but—

"Sit down," instructed McGonagall when Ankaa was staring for too long.

"I wouldn't have known," Ankaa said loud enough only for McGonagall to hear. But the silence of Hall emphasized her voice; sarcasm dripped from it, coating the students. She continued anyway, "I mean, the stool, is before me. I thought I'd have to stand on it." Across her, right at the Head Table, Ankaa saw Albus shaking his head fondly, amused smile on his lips as the students broke into snickers.

"I _said_, sit down, Ms Ankaa," repeated McGonagall, voice razor sharp this time, threatening to cut into her skin.

Ankaa snickered as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head—perhaps more forcefully than McGonagall would normally have done. But the Hat had barely grazed the top of her head when it whispered, _Dear Salazar_ then it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

McGonagall showed no outward reaction aside from removing the Hat and cocked her head towards the green-and-silver themed House that clapped lethargically, hissing in confusion that this girl without a last name had made it into their prized and noble House.

Shrugging, Ankaa sauntered over to them and sat down. She was the first Slytherin first-year so she ended up next to a second-year.

"What's your last name?" the girl beside her asked immediately.

"I can't say. My dad, ah, has a lot of enemies and his job isn't exactly what you'd call... light, either. For my safety, he made it so that I don't have a last name in every record you'd find of me."

"What does your dad do, exactly? And your mother? What's your blood-status?" The older Slytherin pressed.

Ankaa wondered how she'd lie her way through this. Admitting that she didn't know was the same as claiming to be a Mudblood. Ending up in Slytherin was something she had not foreseen—or particularly wanted, _especially_ the living conditions and the allegiance. Ankaa had been keeping an open mind: even Hufflepuff wouldn't be that bad. Like, Moody painted Hufflepuff in a light that made it seem interesting enough for Ankaa to _want_ to join.

Regardless, she'd have to give an answer that would satisfy them and gaining any leverage that might help her.

"I don't know who my mother is. I've never met her. I only have a dad, yes, he's a pure-blood wizard—he makes a couple of trips to Knockturn Alley sometimes so maybe he works there. He never tells me the details, in case I was interrogated or let something dangerous slipped."

The eavesdropping Slytherins relaxed, apparently satisfied. Knockturn Alley was a place frequented by allegedly Dark Wizards and Witches only. They probably forgot Aurors made intermittent trips there to ensure nothing fishy or to-the-extreme-Darkness was going on. Moody happened to fall into the latter group.

Her new Housemates appeased, she could finally concentrate on the Sorting. She knew they'd pass the message around, to assuage any worries about being in the same House as a filthy Mudblood. Ankaa didn't know; for all she knew, she could've been one as easily as she could claim to be a pureblood.

"I thought you're a Mudblood," said Draco Malfoy the moment he was Sorted and found a seat on the opposite of her.

"Look at these eyes," bragged Ankaa, half-lying, "no Muggles have eyes like these." The kids here were sheltered and their contacts with other human-beings were probably limited only to pure-bloods: they would never know how Muggles look like.

Ankaa saw a third-year turning his head to look at her aforementioned eyes, stared, and turned to whisper to his friend beside him. "What sort of magic were you exposed to have those eyes?" asked Draco haughtily, but sounding intrigued himself.

"No idea. My dad dabbled with the Dark Arts a lot so it might've affected my birth." Yeah, Moody's encounter with the Dark Arts left his nose in bits and his face gruesomely scarred.

Draco looked impressed. "Huh. Didn't you know you were sitting with Weasley earlier? A blood-traitor? You basically ignored me the whole conversation! What's your last name?"

"I knew he was Weasley, I was waiting for an opportunity to hex him. You ruined my chance so I was pissed off and didn't respond. My last name's top secret. Like, Unspeakable top-secret."

"Liar," he accused, looking mollified nonetheless.

Ankaa figured it was only a matter of time before her background was questioned intensively again: since she'd told Ron and Harry that Alastor Moody was her foster father, and here she was, saying that her father was a Dark Wizard. The contradictions should still paint Ankaa in a dark light; an unknown source.

Ankaa ignored him since it was Harry's turn to be Sorted. She wondered what it was saying to him.

**-0-**

_Hmm… Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… so where shall I put you? How about Slytherin?_

_I don't want to sound bias, but I think Ankaa has a fair point,_ Harry responded, thinking the words but wondering if the Hat would received it._ In their eyes, I caused Voldemort's defeat and he has a lot of supporters in Slytherin, I don't want trouble. I want a a peaceful life of learning magic here._

_Fair point,_ conceded the Hat. _What about Gryffindor? Your parents were in that House._

This peaked Harry's interest: Hagrid hadn't mention that. _Really?_ Then he deflated, recalling the bias of the Gryffindors. He didn't want to be an automatic enemy towards Ankaa's Housemates, and he certainly didn't want to be pegged as someone Ankaa would be warned against by her Housemates and two opposing Houses would just ruin their friendship. _Isn't there a House that'd suit me?_

_Oh, this is tough,_ commented the Hat. _You're fiercely loyal and quite bright... Neutral Houses, eh? That would be Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. If you want to be chummy with that Slytherin girl—Ankaa—then Ravenclaw would do you good. You have to work harder though, you waste the brains beneath that laziness and steeled righteousness that should be relaxed. Very well, then—_"RAVENCLAW!"

Everyone clapped. Flushed with excitement, Harry eagerly removed the Hat and headed towards the blue-and-bronze House that clapped and cheered the loudest. He quickly seated himself next to Terry Boot who'd moved to make space for him. Someone from the same table yelled, "We've got Potter, we've got Potter!"

Harry turned around, seeing the Slytherins eyeing him with open curiosity. "Harry, glad to see you here!" chirped Ankaa, turning around, her magenta eye making her grey eye seemed dull. "Got to admit, it's quite a surprise. It's probably the wit and acceptance thing you've got going on there. And creativity... your art was the best in class, I remember, it was put on display for the rest of the year!"

"Until Dudley tore it into shreds," said Harry, mood unable to be dampened from where he was now. He'd always turned glum as he recalled that. His form teacher had declared his the best and praised his creativity but Dudley had destroyed it in a fit of jealousy. Harry would've told Ankaa and asked for her help to repair if he hadn't moved away: he never saw it again. And whatever artwork he did after that was halfhearted at best; he knew Dudley would destroy it anyway if it was too good so he never put his heart into his work anymore.

Ankaa looked puzzled. "He ruined it and you're happy about it?" she asked, sounding incredulous but amused all the same.

"And the oddity," added a fellow Slytherin sitting to Ankaa's right. "No one ever survived the Killing Curse before."

Someone seized Harry's shoulder and he turned to see an older Ravenclaw. "Tanya's got a fair point, how did you survive it?"

This put Harry on the spot immediately. "I... I don't know. I don't remember." Harry felt sorry that he couldn't give a better answer when he saw the other Ravenclaws visibly wilting at this negative answer. 'If I ever find out, you guys will be the first to know."

"Thanks," the older Ravenclaw said, winking. Harry had to note that she was extremely pretty. "I'm Cho Chang, nice to meet you."

"Y-yeah, nice to meet you, too."

Harry turned, catching Ankaa's smirk before the golden plates filled with food stole his attention away from his friend.

**-0-**

Harry didn't remember much after the feast but he was starting to regret being Sorted into Ravenclaw. He imagined the other students reciting passwords to their Tower's guardian and immediately making their way to the dorms before snuggling under the covers and sleeping while the Ravens had to answer questions.

"What is the instrument that you can hear, but cannot see, touch and smell?"

He heard confused murmurs. "Can we taste it?" someone asked. The knocker did not answer.

Harry said, "Um, a voice? We sing, we produce music but we cannot touch, see or smell it?"

"Excellent," it said, and the door unlocked. Harry felt a flush of success as his fellow Ravenclaws patted his back and ushered him in.

Once they were safely inside the tower, the prefect, a boy in his sixth-year, stopped them for a quick welcoming speech. "Without wishing to boast, this is the house where the cleverest witches and wizards live. Our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, prized learning above all else—and so do we. Some first-years are scared by having to answer the eagle's questions, but don't worry. Ravenclaws learn quickly, and you'll soon enjoy the challenges the door sets.

"It's not unusual to find twenty people standing outside the common room door, all trying to work out the answer to the day's question together. This is a great way to meet fellow Ravenclaws from other years, and to learn from them – although it is a bit annoying if you've forgotten your Quidditch robes and need to get in and out in a hurry."

Chuckles scattered around; the prefect waved them down before continuing, "In fact, I'd advise you to triple-check your bag for everything you need before leaving Ravenclaw Tower. Another cool thing about Ravenclaw is that our people are the most individual – some might even call them eccentrics. But geniuses are often out of step with ordinary folk, and unlike some other houses we could mention, we think you've got the right to wear what you like, believe what you want, and say what you feel. We aren't put off by people who march to a different tune; on the contrary, we value them!"

"As for our relationship with the other three houses: well, you've probably heard about the Slytherins. They're not all bad, but you'd do well to be on your guard until you know them well. They've got a long house tradition of doing whatever it takes to win—so watch out, especially in Quidditch matches and exams. The Gryffindors are OK but they tend to be show-offs and are also much less tolerant than we are of people who are different; in fact, they've been known to make jokes about Ravenclaws and even bully us. As for the Hufflepuffs, well, nobody could say they're not nice people: they're actually some of the nicest people in the school. Let's just say you needn't worry too much about them when it comes to competition at exam time. "

And a whole lot more but Harry was practically half-asleep by then as the prefect kept rambling on and on. Finally, a merciful seventh-year returned to the common room, picked a book off the bookshelf, knocked their prefect out and told the first-years to troop to their dorms.

Harry could definitely see why the Ravenclaws were eccentrics and he grinned: he had a feeling he'd love it here.

**-0-**

_He was sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry Potter in RAVENCLAW!_

Ankaa knew she'd changed things, but she hoped this wasn't a bad outcome. Ravenclaws were pretty neutral, though they could give Slytherins a run about being ambitious.

Ankaa scanned the letter she'd written to send to Moody. She knew he'd want to know what happened. She heard scratches of quill on parchment and she knew her new dorm-mates were doing the same thing as her.

She'd sent it tomorrow.

**-0-**

_Dear Moody,_

_I hope you aren't actually moody—haha, if you know what I mean. OK, brace yourself here 'coz you'll be disappointed, I think. I was Sorted into Slytherin and as I'm writing this, I'm in the nest of the snakes. No worries: I cast the wards you taught me (I hope correctly, are you sure we can't practice next summer at home?) and no one is hovering my shoulder, Invisibility Cloak or not, the eye and Foe Glass you gave me will alert me of that._

_I can imagine your face here. Let me give you a sec to recollect yourself._

_(Done yet?)_

_I dropped a couple of hints that my dad might be, eh, some dark wizard but it's entirely up to their interpretation—so I'd appreciate it if you don't send a Howler or something. I'd be your spy in here. After all, there's the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? Except that I'm in the heart of the enemy._

_Anyway, I've had a tearful reunion with Harry—yes, that Potter. He was Sorted into Ravenclaw; at least we'd be friends and our Houses won't frown down on our friendship._

_Whatever the case, hope you're doing well._

_Love,_  
><em>Ankaa<em>

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>A belated Christmas gift, I suppose: Merry Christmas! :P<strong>

As a sign of goodwill, review? I'd prefer you guys to come up with theories or questions to bombard me with, I need them to keep plot bunnies alive.

...


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